


First: Don't Blame Anyone But Yourself, Second: Do Something About It

by Okaysha



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Was supposed to be destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 12:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10360419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okaysha/pseuds/Okaysha
Summary: Dean has been in a relationship with Cassie for a few years now. They're settled down, they both have jobs and a nice little home. Cassie is even taking some classes to work toward her degree in communications and journalism. Dean, on the other hand, has the thankless job as a waiter in a particularly busy Perkins. The pay is low and so are his spirits. A businessman, Zachariah, comes in one night and expresses an interest and appreciation in him that Dean hasn't felt for a long time. Zachariah offers Dean a solution, handing him a card for - all summed up - renting a friend.AKA:Dean Winchester is unhappy and self destructs but sill eventually put the pieces together again.





	1. That Was Your 1st Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be Destiel, but I never truly made it to introducing Castiel. This fic is pretty much on a permanent hiatus, but I wish you enjoy it anyway!

            “You too, babe.” Dean hunches in the kitchen corner like a criminal, whispering into his cell instead of being out on the floor serving.

            “Dean,” even over the cheap cellular speaker, Cassie's voice managed to curl around Dean's eardrums and melt them with her pleasant warmth. “Would it kill you to say 'I love you' back?” It was a reasonable question, much too reasonable for Dean's lack of argument. He could say it in his mind a hundred million times over, he loved Cassie. He loved her wholly and unlike any woman before—but the words would shrivel on his tongue. Each time the feeling came overflowing, the perfect moment, the words crumbled to dust, and instead he spat out a mouthful of unsatisfying grainy powder.

            “I—” Dean felt his chest clench, holding his lungs and words restricted. “I-I...I gotta go, babe...” Time to abort, another attempt failed.

            “Dean, don't forget to pick up D'Art—” Dean fumbled with bulky thumbs to hit the little red 'OFF' button. Yeah, it was kind of a dick move to hang up in the middle of her speaking, but Cassie understood.[not really] He'd already said he had work to do, and that wasn't a lie either. Dean slipped his phone into one of the pockets of the little waist-apron he was wearing, ignoring as his stomach churned in guilt. It was time to get back to serving the masses.

            Relaxing his brow and tightening the corners of his mouth, Dean reentered the floor, arms cradling a few menus, heading to a spot in his section where a family of four just sat themselves. He tried to be a quick as possible crossing the room, hoping to avoid any customers complaining about the wait or refills.

            “Hey, welcome to Perkins, so here are your menus...” Dean dealt out the tall sleeves filled with glamourized food. As they each flipped their folders, finding which direction to read, he pulled out the little order notepad. “And what can I do ya for drinks?”

            The male spoke up first, “You have Pepsi?”

            “Sorry, Coke products.” The guy heaved a sigh like Dean had done him a personal wrong, giving who Dean assumed was his wife a meaningful look. She returned it with a more pleading look, before swiveling her premature grey head to Dean.

            “How about you just get him a coffee then?” Her voice was nothing more than a strong whimper, her body telling a story of physical exertion and lack of sleep. And as Dean observed the family snug in the booth, he could see why.  Reasons 1 and 2 sat pinned to the inside of the booth, each little one already managed to stick their fingers into the little jelly packets. “Henry! Frank! Stop making such a god damn mess!” Problem 3 scolded as per his fatherly duties.

            The boys froze under the sudden scrutiny, and the wispy woman gently coaxed away the jelly, replacing them with napkins. “Henry, Frank, please listen to your father. Now, what do you boys want to drink?”

            “Grape!” The little one with apricot fingers screeched.

            “Chocolate!” Screamed grape fingers.

            “Uh, we don't have grape juice...” Dean avoided contact with the husband, anticipating and avoiding another meaningful look. It's not is if Dean was the one who personally went back in the kitchen and binged on grape juice. In fact, he's pretty sure they're never sold grape juice. “We have orange juice.”

            At least the mother was working with him; she leaned over into her child's face. “They don't have grape juice, Frankie. You want orange juice?” Little Frankie considered it for a second. Just for a moment before his overwhelming urge to spite the world bubbled up. “NO! GRAPE!” Goodness gracious, Dean tried his best to look understanding, still avoiding eye-contact with the father.

            “Sweetie, they don't have grape juice.”

            “GRAPE JUICE!”

            “Frank-”

            “GRAAAAA-”

            “FRANK, SHUT YOUR TRAP, WE'RE IN PULIC!” the father shouted in the sort of irony that makes him the loudest trap in the house.

            The mother looked worried now. “Well, How about you just get them both milk?” Milk. That was too much struggle for milk. Dean wrote the orders nonetheless, waiting finally on the mother. “And just a water for me, thanks.”

            Dean smiled again, assuring that he'd be returning. Whether he liked it or not. And that was the day in the life. Not to say there weren't good days, but there were definitely bad days. The cooks like to complain, but at least they don't have to hear the complaining first hand. How many times did _they_ have a strong woman drag them in with a voice as level and sharp as a dagger, telling them that my eggs are too runny? None too many times unless they cook for someone at home. Dean was always the one at fault. The customer is always right, but it's not Dean's fault if the lady didn't know what sunny side up meant. But no. Dean was supposed to have emphatically connected with the customer and just know she wanted over-easy eggs. So, Mandy, the supervisor, was always on his ass about customer satisfaction. Well, truth be told, Mandy was on everyone's ass, but it was easy to feel singled out.

            After another fiasco with a headlong collision with a miniature customer, Dean rushed back into the kitchen, hissing swears and feeling both under and overwhelmed. He hated his job. Nobody was hurt really. The kid cried a bit, the mom apologized, Chuck who usually works the register came over to help clean up the mess. Mandy found out and had another 'word' with him, and now Dean feels he's reached that level of shittyness that will finally allow him to transcend into hellish despair. But that'd have to wait, because there were still a few hours of his shift.

            “What's with the face, Brother?” Dean loosened at the familiar accent of his friend. Looking up, Benny had wandered over to the corner he'd decided to wallow in for a while. “Nothing.”

            “Oh, I don't think I believe that.” Benny wiped his hands on his full apron, before leaning his shoulder against the wall and crossing his arms. That meant he was there to stay. That's all the prompt he needed—today wasn't Dean's day and he just wanted someone to listen. Dean sighed, gathering his thoughts before, “I hate this. I hate my boss. I hate my job. Today's been nothing but fuck-up after fuck-up after fuck-up, Mandy probably has a vendetta against me. I practically punted a four-year-old.  I have to take all those dishes I broke out of my next check...” Sigh. “I'm just drained. I've been drained for such a long time now.”

            Benny remained over him, mulling over his friends confession. He was a careful man despite his burly appearance.  “Well, Brother...perhaps it's about time you took some time off. Do some work on your own. Maybe tinker with that beaut of a vehicle you have?”

            The Impala. '67. Dean managed a smile. Yes, some time with his baby would be nice.

            “See? You still gotta little gumption in ya now, don't you?”

            Dean managed to uphold his slight smile, even though he suddenly felt that same weight of depression tugging at it again. He loved his baby, but it was only a Hello-Kitty bandage on a severed limb. Dean was unhappy with his life. He couldn't bother Benny with his problems any more than that though. So, Dean stood and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “You're right, Benny. Once I get a little time alone with my baby, I'll be good as new.”

            Benny smiled with his accent like molasses, “Glad to hear.”

            Dean wandered back onto the floor, gathering leftovers and shunting them to the kitchens. It was past the dinner rush. Half the lights were off, giving a more dingy look to the place to suit Dean's dingy mood. The only thing he had going for him by this time of night was the hope that no one else comes in and it was Friday paycheck. “Just seat yourself sir.” Dean tried to send a quick prayer to whoever might have been listening to send the customer to Alfie's side. However there was no such listener and a business formal walked right into Dean's corner.  Dean arranged a smile once again, cursing the phrase 'fake it til you make it' because if that were the case he should have been in goddamn hysterics by now. He presented the menu with a flair, notepad at the ready. “Welcome to Perkins, Sir. How can I help you this evening?”

            “Dean, you can call me Zachariah.” The business formal held out a hand. Now, Dean was shocked at being acknowledged by name, an electric curiosity swimming though his head before he finally managed to surface and remember that he was wearing a name tag. Checking for breath, Dean restarted his usual pitch, “Well, uh, welcome to Perkins, Zachariah. How can I serve you this evening?”

            The business formal craned his neck, surveying the area before patting the spot at the table just across from him. “Do ya have water with lemon?”

            “I-”

            “Dean, how about you go fetch us a pitcher, and come and keep a lonely man's company.” Dean's tongue stumbled around in his mouth as he attempted an excuse.  Zachariah squinted his slate eyes, a smile or a smirk, kindness or confidence—maybe both—accented his offer. Either way, Dean undulated between weariness of the company and a tickling curiosity.

            Curiosity killed the cat, Winchester... he muttered to himself, suddenly returning with the pitcher and two plastic glasses made to mimic actual glass. He tried to get Chuck's attention, eying him with enough intensity that he wouldn't be surprised if he discovered he had laser vision with all the heat was putting into it.  But alas, it was not meant to be.

            Dean set the pitcher and glasses in Zachariah's reach. “Anything else? Care to order?”

            Zachariah shook his head slowly, patting the spot across from him. “Dean, if you'd please.”

            So, he was serious. Dean planted himself across from the stranger, business formal named Zachariah.

            “So, Dean, how was your day today?” It was a strangely familiar tone considering they'd just met. He was definitely suited for business with that sort of charisma.

            “Well, fine I guess.”

            “Fine?” Zachariah smoothly poured himself a glass. “Now, not to sound too pushy, but I've never really met a man who had just a “fine” day. Fine is just as much saying “Hey, I'm not dead.” Dean, I know you're not dead, and I'm not interested in small talk with simple answers. Just—how was your day?”

            Dean wheeled through his possible responses. He could say something vague—like, it was a rough day. He could lie and say it was a good day. Or he could abort. It wasn't in his job description to chat it up with the customers anyway.

            “Do I need to start guessing?”

            “Alright. My day hasn't been exactly fine. It's been pretty rough actually...”

            Zachariah clasped his hands, nodding sympathetically. “Ah, yes... but, just today? Something traumatic happen?”

            “No, just the usual.” Dean bothered with pouring a glass for himself. His throat was dry anyway, and it gave him something to do with his hands. Zachariah stopped mid sip, expression leveled with heavy upper lids. “The usual? Well, what's the usual?”

            Dean sloshed though his memory, picking a few ripest memories with the bitterest fruit. “Well, first of all, I work eleven hours, midday to night shift. My girlfriend gets up at six, and I have the choice of either getting in my eight hours or waking up early enough to make sure she gets her breakfast in before she goes off to balance college classes and a paid internship. And of course I have to get up before her because she deserves it, and I want to spend the whole day with her but I can't because I have this shitty—sorry-”

            “No issue.”

            “-this dumb job.” Dean waggles a hand over his head indicating the belly of the Perkins they sat in. “I hate my boss, I hate my job...I can't even get away from it, because the only friends I have are here. I mean, they're great, but my life revolves around this tacky place. Not to mention that along with the long hours, I don't get crap for payment. Not even a “thanks!” No one understands the etiquette of tipping, so that's crap too. Plus, people have a knack for taking out their frustrations on me. And I'm like, Lady, I'm sorry your eggs were runny, but you did order sunny side up, I can't help that you meant something else! I kicked a kid on accident. Broke a few things. Accused of a wandering gaze—as if. And that's the usual.”

            “I can see where you're coming from, Dean. I myself had a pretty miserable sense of the usual. Long hours, away from the home, working independently and being pressured for results day after day.” He took a long drink now, prolonging his tale. After a release for breath he continued, “Most of the time it was uncertain that I'd come away with a profit at all, making the need for travel even more stressful.”

            “You seem to be doing fine now.” Meaning, aside from a hairline that retreated for the boarder, Zachariah looked well enough off. Nice suit, nice watch, nice briefcase he had propped up in the spot at his hip, and he probably had a nice ride if Dean would go out and check.

            Zachariah tilted his head in acknowledgment. “I am. I found my niche in the market.”

            “And what was that? Drugs? Prostitution? Loan shark?”

            Zachariah chuckled, face crumpling into multiple fine lines. “Ah, not really...” he put a hand inside his coat, pulling out some card stock. “I have found my place based loosely in entertainment. I like to call it “Street Therapy” but the official business is Rental Associates.” Dean took the card offered, glancing at the thick card.

**Rental Associates**

“A Companion Service”

 **PH** 908 222 8900                         

 **EM** rentalstaff@rentalsociates.com

 **WB** rentalsociates.com                  

 

            “And before you get the wrong idea, it's not an escort service, because I know the connotations and I'm not touching that one. It is simply...a non-judgmental, listening ear. Or if you're feeling more anxious, there are appointments and you can have someone over for lunch, or be your plus one at a wedding, whatever your needs.” Zachariah's business pitch was going full fuel, most of it blowing over Dean's head as he struggled to comprehend. Should he be insulted? Like renting a friend? He had friends. And who had the money to waste on a fake friend? Dean swallowed the lemon water, letting the citrus strangely relax his tension. “Dean, you've told me already how unhappy you are.  You need something outside of this prison of minimum wage and skimpy tips. Dean, you can talk to someone over the phone, or arrange someone to meet you here during these late hours to talk to as the crowd winds down. We can negotiate prices based off of your financial crisis, and you have my word—it’s cheaper than any therapist you'll find, and I'd say it works just as well, for all your therapeutic needs.”

            “Wait—you think I need therapy?”

            Zachariah gave a sympathetic raise of his eyebrows as if he were implying it were obvious. “Not therapy, per se. I've told you my business is initially for entertainment services.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a (probably real) leather bill fold and flipping through it. “But I can't help but feel as though we have helped more than a few of our customers. Here.” Zachariah slid three large bills across the (glossy formica) table. Three hundred dollars.

            “I can't accept-”

            “Nonsense, Dean. You can and will accept this. It's the best tip you've ever received. Pay off those dishes, pay off a bill, or buy yourself something nice—this is _your_ money. I can only encourage you to use a little bit of it to test our services. Look up the website, maybe give a call.” He flashed a set of bleach-white teeth in two perfect rows. “I might be just what you're looking for.”

            Rocking side to side, Zachariah righted himself to his feet. He ran his hands down his chest to iron any folds, then grabbed his suitcase in his left hand and held out his right hand. “Dean, thank you for the drink, and I wish you the best.” Dean shook the hand, and Zachariah gave a curt nod before strolling with a wide step out the doors.

            Dean brought his hands down onto the three bills in his hands. What an outrageous tip for just serving water. The sound of shifting ice as it melted in the pitcher triggered his immediate registration that it was about time everything was closed up. He stuffed the money and the business card in the shallow pocket of his dress pants, used the bottom of his shirt to mop up the condensation, and bussed the pitcher and glasses back to the kitchens. “Sorry, in a rush, but we has a last minute customer and here's the last bit.” The dishwasher groaned, but Dean wasn't going to pay any pity. He ditched his apron in his little employee cubby, riding his high into Mandy's office.

            “I'm here for my paycheck?” Mandy smacked her lips, fanning out the last few envelops before picking out the one at the end and holding it out. “Thanks.” He was kind of in a rush now anyway, so that business about the dishes could wait. Instead, he hopped in his baby and drove to the only place that was open at a quarter-to-midnight.

            Dean confidently walked into the Walmart crafting isle to the charms and beads area, looking for something special. It'd been a long time that he'd been able to splurge on a surprise gift for Cassie, and he wanted to surprise her with something to apologize for the earlier hang up. He'd give it to her tonight and he'd manage to tell her how much he loved her and the day would end well.

            It was outrageous how pricy some of the charms came to at times.  They are so small, so how they could be worth more than a few bucks, Dean didn't know. Hunting through the displays, he came across a little crystallized fish with yellow and blue stripes. Even better, it was one of the cheaper ones—only fifty some dollars. Dean picked it up with a surge of excitement now. That business formal was some sort of saint sent by God himself. There was no clearing the genuine grin Dean had as he drove back home, humming along with some ACDC.

            Their place was small. Just outside the city there was a shrunken house with off-white skin and foggy windows and a yard. Cassie found it, Dean bought it, and they both upheld it as best they could. It wasn't anything special, but it was home. The lights were used sparingly to save energy and the bill. Unplug anything not being used.  Use more layers rather than turn up the heat. Recycle. It was a change from Dean's earlier lifestyle, but it was a change that he was willing to go through for Cassie.

            Dean parked in the driveway, shoving the little wrapped box in his pocket and with each step that took him to the front door, he grew more excited. He swept the door open without making a sound, just in case Cassie decided to fall asleep instead of waiting up for him. He hung up his jacket and keys on their respective hooks, take a trip through the kitchen to pick up the snack that Cassie liked to leave out. This time there was a bunch of green grapes skewered with little chocolate chip eyes to look like a caterpillar or something. It was so like her to make something cute and healthy—it was like he was living with his little brother with all this health crap. Dean slipped the first three grapes off, chewing as he popped his head in the living room.

            Cassie was curled up at the end of the sunken sofa, draped with a sun-bleached quilt, studying something under the lamplight. “Hey, Cassie. Thanks for the...” Dean waved the skewered grapes around and took another three off as he entered. Cassie smiles, eyes a dark and wise brown. “You're looking happy. Work went well?”

            Dean slid himself into the little crook her body made wrapping an arm around her shoulders and giving a sweet kiss. “Pretty well, actually.” His mouth quirked upwards in the right corner. Cassie closed her books, setting them at the bedside table before adjusting her position to face Dean more and giving another kiss. “I'm glad.”

            Dean snuggled closer, absorbing the cozy atmosphere and the feel of a warm body in a cold house. “Working hard?” He kept his voice low, always loving the exchange of whispers in the dead of night. “Hardly working.” Cassie returned, touching their foreheads together. She gave another short kiss.

            “You know I tell you not to wait up for me.”

            “And I tell you sleep in and not wake up before me to make breakfast but we're both stubborn, aren't we? Plus, it's a good motivation to get some work done.”

            Dean cracked a smile again. Cassie was so beautiful and wonderful sometimes he didn't think he deserved it. “Well, either way, I'm kinda glad you were awake tonight because I got you something...” His excitement was peaking as he pulled out the little red box. Cassie arched her eyebrows perfectly and she took the gift. Dean held his breath, watched as she wiggled off the cover to see the little crystal fish. It was worth it. Her expression melted into the sweetest of smiles, as she picked it up to hold in the light. “Dean, it's wonderful.”

            “I know. A customer came in and insisted I take this crazy huge tip,” Dean broke out of his whisper, excitement taking over. “And the first thing I wanted to do was make it up to you for hanging up today. I'm sorry, Cassie. That was rude, and I just wanted-”

            Cassie's eyes suddenly widened and she cut off the apology with, “Dean, did you remember to pick up D'Artagnan?”

            Dean had finally managed to cut his losses and finally tell Cassie that he loved her, and he got this? His face fell, eyebrows drawn together. D'Artagnan? D'Artagnan their fucking dog? That was more important than being able to finally tell her? Dean's mood crashed soon after that, chest churning with stormy weather. Dean hated dogs anyway. They were loud, smelly, they shed and slobbered and it was not his idea to have a dog. It had been unusually peaceful, and now he realized that that was because he hadn't had a small, hairy, cow at his feet trying to trip him and there wasn't the extra weight as he wormed his way between them and made life generally more difficult.

            But even worse than that, he was finally going to say it, and Cassie had to go and interrupt with that? Week’s worth of bottled up stress began to overflow as Dean ran it through his head over and over. He'd set it up so perfectly. He was going to say it. He was going to say it and “Who cares about the frickin' dog? I hate that dog!” Dean stood up and Cassie flinched away at the sudden movement. “You know I hate dogs, and I only let that thing in the house because I couldn't force you to get rid of the dog you've had since a puppy. And that's what you care about right now? Friggin D'Artagnan, what kind of name is that anyway? I had a bad day—what about the dog? I got you a present—what about the dog? I work half the day surrounded by strangers who couldn't give a crap for how they treat me, my boss is a bitch, and I come home day after day and all I get is “don't forget the dog”? I'm so tired of this. I'm tired of it!”

            There was a fire in his veins now and he needed something stronger to quench it. “Dean...” All the frustrations and doubts and the helplessness he actually had felt under each claim of being “fine.” He didn't care what Cassie had to say now. “I'll get the damn dog if that's all we care about.”

            Dean wasn't going to get the dog.

            Normally he'd go to Harvelle's Roadhouse, but he knew the owner, Ellen, and drinking too much there just gets him disapproval. Tonight wasn't the night to be gentle with his liver. Peeling out of the driveway with a little too much vigor, he headed out to the Stumble Inn.

            The Stumble Inn didn't care who you were, where you came from, where you were going—open 24-7 with the prices being not too pricy. It was dark and the perfect place to hide from your life. Dean used to frequent the area more often before he and Cassie moved in together. The bartender was different this time. The old one used to be thicker around the belt and his faced was smashed in kinda like a pug. This new guy was more like...Snape. From Harry Potter? Yeah, he looked a lot like Snape. Dean grew more and more sure about it with each swallow. Pretty soon, Dean wasn't even sure why he felt bad in the first place. He was drinking with a movie star, life was good. Well, the bartender didn't really like being called Snape—must have been under cover or something. Dean just called him bartender after that. Bartender can I have another drink. Bartender, can you buy that fine lady a drink on me. Hello, my name is Dean, and who might you be? Nice name, what're you doing out so late? Me? Oh, I dunno. I had to get a dog or something... And it was amazing there was such a beautiful girl at the bar the very night Dean decided to go out. It was like it was meant to be. She was so pretty, Dean thought. She was so pretty, but it was kinda wrong. Her hair wasn't dark enough, and it wasn't curly enough. She looked a little too pale. Her eyes weren't dark enough. She didn't smile enough. Her laugh was saturated with intent. Dean gave the woman a pat on the knee and wished her a goodnight before he didn't so much stumble out but trudged out of the Stumble Inn.

            Dean was a little less considerate about being quiet when he entered the house. He went straight to the bedroom, mind fuzzy and breath tainted. D'Artagnan was home and in bed with Cassie, a German Shepard Collie mix, and he rose his head at Dean's entrance giving a small 'ruff.' Even the dog was being considerate. Dean didn't really think about this though. He took off his coat and dropped it on the floor. He tossed his keys on top of the dresser. He stripped down to just his boxers and crawled into bed, snuggling up to the familiar warmth and dog breath. He didn't remember falling asleep.

            He remembered waking up though. It was already 9:45am. Cassie was gone by now. Dean groaned in response to his very annoying headache. Did Cassie eat this morning? It was the weekend though. Dean groped around the bed again, blinded by sleep. He was alone. “Cassie?” His voice was rough and quite in need of some water. There was a far-off hum as the refrigerator kicked in.

            It was a challenge to anchor his feet to the floor, but he finally managed to upright himself. Things would probably clear up if he washed up. Feeling as if that were the best idea ever, Dean crossed the hall to the bathroom. He turned the shower on and waited for the water heater to its thing, testing the spray with the tips of his fingers. Finally the temperature was tolerable, and Dean hopped in taking the shower head face-to-face. Closing his eyes, he just stood there for a while, drowning in the drizzle and it dripped off his eyelashes and bubbled at his lips and filled his ears with a roar that probably sounded louder because of the alcohol in his system. He could only stand there so long though, without the thought of Cassie reminding him to save water. He shampooed without conditioning, and he ended up using her Passionate Pomegranate shower gel because the bar of soap was gone and that was another thing he needed to get.

            There weren't any clean towels, so he braved going nude while brushing his teeth and tried to shake off as much water as he could before walking back into the bedroom. He grabbed a pair of old sweatpants and a Batman t-shirt, struggling through the initial clinginess that comes with putting on clothes while wet. Then, in bare feet, Dean padded into the kitchen to see if he could make anything before starting his day.

            He didn't notice it until halfway through a bowl of plain Cheerios the grape caterpillar on the counter with a note folded over it. Slurping up the spoonful of cereal that he'd just put to his lips and leaning over to grab both off the counter. Cassie's neat cursive decked the front in one word, “Dean.”

            Dean opened it. Inside she explained that she unfortunately had a study session that she was going to and then she was going to be visiting her sister over the weekend to help her plan for the Wedding. She also apologized for it, but it was up to Dean to watch D'Artagnan while she was away. “Love Cassie” is how she ended it, and that made Dean feel like crap. He'd forgotten about that wedding with her sister and that last night was their last time together rather than having the whole weekend. He was gonna be alone. “D'Artagnan!” he shouted. D'Artagnan entered the kitchen with his head and ears perked upright. Dean held his hand close to the ground and the clicked over on the linoleum floor and put his head up the warm palm. “Good dog.”

            Dean stroked the furry head for a while, eating his cereal and dazing into space. He had to get his ass in gear and find something to do. Well, actually he didn't need to find anything—there was a To-Do list up on the fridge filled with things that were meant to be gotten to eventually. But first, the dog needs to be taken out.

            Rubbing behind D'Artagnan's ear, he put his bowl in the sink and walked to the front door, holding it open. D'Artagnan got the hint, running out and taking a few laps around the safety of the front yard. There was a pretty doghouse that matched the exterior of their own house sitting not too far from the front door. Dean fuddled with the chain before he finally found the hook and called for D'Artagnan again. The dog happily obliged, sticking its head in places it didn't belong and licking his face and barking. “Yeah, I get it. You like it outside...” He managed to fix the hook onto the navy collar, patting D'Artagnan on the head once more before stepping back into the house and leaving the dog to his own devices.

            The bank closes at noon, so that was what mattered most to get done. One he cashed his check, he should go shopping for groceries. Would the milk last for another two weeks? Meh, he didn't wanna risk it. Sitting down at the kitchen table with a pen, he wrote out a second To-Do list on the back of Cassie's note. Bank. Groceries: ~~Milk~~ Milk, eggs, soap, TP, tampons, bread, dish soap, chocolate anything, dog food. Go to the laundromat. Make something for Cassie Feed the dog.

            He had a full day ahead of him. Not really. What was he going to do without Cassie there? They usually went out on weekends...Dean didn't really know what to do with himself. Which was a little pathetic, because he had to have done things before Cassie. Dean scoffed to himself. It didn't even matter anyway. He grabbed his jacket after some searching, he didn't remember throwing it on the floor last night, and left to the bank after making sure the dog had food and water. Okay, they had $825 for the next two weeks. Put $100 back into savings. He went to the laundromat, put in two loads to wash, and vowed to return before the half-hour cycle finished. He sped a little to get to the grocery store, hauling ass through the isles as he tossed in the items on his list. Milk? Check. Eggs? Check. Soap and toilet paper? Check. Tampons? Hella check. The rest? Check, check, check. Dean checked out and sped a little bit more to get back to the laundromat in time. He was a good 4 minutes early and soon enough put everything in the dryer for an hour and a half. Considering the perishables in the passenger seat, Dean had to bear another trip back home, putting everything away and grabbing his laptop before heading out the door again. It was an unbelievable about of back-and-fourth, and he could imagine that some of it could have been avoided if he'd planned a little, but that was all in the past. Dean got back to the laundromat with a half-hour of a cycle left.

            Dean settled at the plastic table near the front window, near the bookshelf of community crossword puzzle books. He didn't have anything particularly against crossword puzzles, but there wasn't any way he could entertain himself that way for an hour. Instead, Dean flipped open his laptop that still had two tabs if porn and Facebook open. Clicking out from the two former before they started making noises, he looked at the people available online. Oh. Sammy was on.

Dean smiled, sending a message:

            Sam logged off, and wasn't that was majorly brief. Very unsatisfying. Dean was tempted to pout. Then he felt a little frustrated. Really. He didn't have much for hobbies or...friends. Well, sure he had friends, but who did he hang out with when Cassie wasn't around? The drier began to thunk loudly and so did Dean's thoughts. Well, he didn't hang out with anyone because he felt as though that would just be unloading his problems instead of dealing with them. He was his own man, and he shouldn't be dependent on others.

            Sometimes, things just became too stressful. Feeling like crap all day, having to hide it all behind a smile for the customers—holding it in just became a habit. But the stress has been eating at him. When was the last time he had a conversation that wasn't about work? Maybe if he could get it all out. A “guilt free listening ear” like the business formal said. The thoughts were loud and clunky. What was up with the whiny crap? Couldn't he just get over it? He would if he could. And...it wouldn't hurt to check out the website.

            Dean dug out his wallet, finding the business card behind his license. rentalsociates.com Typing in the address, he was brought to a pretty simple page. The banner at the top had three black ties in a row, each tagged with a weird symbol at the bottom. Very black and white—literally. The home page had a bulletin about a public event coming up in early November, site changes, “like us on Facebook,” “visit out customer reviews!” etc. The lower right-hand corner had a little floating button, “Talk Live to Staff.” It's not like Dean was making a commitment at this point—he was just curious about what the site had to offer—plus, he had the excuse of boredom with nothing better to do. Next he clicked “About Us.” It was naturally a blurb written by Zachariah himself. Skimming over, it touched all the bases: values, business, commitment. He clicked on the “Services” tab. This is where it become more detailed.

            **What We Do:** We allow you to rent an acquaintance to use to your pleasure. We suit all needs: if needing someone to talk to, a partner to take to an event, or perhaps a local who can provide a tour of the area. Rentalsociate.com is a way to assure that you will not be alone.

            **Strategic Partnerships:** We will take all your needs and requests with the utmost care, to assure that you will receive the best possible partner as your rental. To achieve this, a short survey is required before creating an appointment. Personal information is kept private, and you can view our privacy policy here.

            **Service Member Directory:** If you have any questions about the acquaintance rented, you can search our Service Member Directory for more information here.

            Curious about what everybody might look like, Dean clicked to the Service Member Directory. To his despair, there was only a search engine that required a name in order to find a particular person. So, there wasn't a list anywhere. The company did all the picking. He was feeling gypped for answers, and why the hell not, they wouldn't know who it was if he asked a question of the little floating chatbox. Dean clicked “Talk Live with Staff.” There was a little waiting symbol before quickly the message popped up: You are speaking with: Charlie!

Dean looked at the box.

 

**Charlie is typing...**

 

            Oh no.

 

 **Charlie:** Hello, this is Charlie! How can I help you?

 

            Dean froze. Was actually talking to someone live?

 

 **Charlie:** Hello, this is Charlie! How can I help you?

 **Charlie:** Hello? No need to be shy!

 

            Oh boy, this guy probably thinks that he's gone dumb. He has to reply!

 

 **Charlie:** Hello, this is Charlie! How can I help you?

 **Charlie:** Hello? No need to be shy!

 **User:** hello

 **Charlie** : Hey! This is Charlie, now who might I be talking to?

 

            Oh crap, did he have to give a name?

 

 **Charlie:** Hello, this is Charlie! How can I help you?

 **Charlie:** Hello? No need to be shy!

 **User:** hello

 **Charlie:** Hey! This is Charlie, now who might I be talking to?

 **Charlie:** Oh, if you don't wanna say I can just call you Sir. That okay, Sir?

 **User:** that's fine

 **Charlie:** Okay, Sir! So, how can I help you?

 **User:** i want to know what exactly you do

 **Charlie:** Well, Rentalsociates allows you to rent an acquaintance to use to your pleasure. We can suit all needs, if you need someone to talk to, someone to take to a local event, or someone to provide a tour of the local area—we got it.

 **User:** I know that much...but, like, what do you do?

 **Charlie:** Well, Sir...it depends on what you need.

 **User:** well, this business was recommended to me because they thought i should have someone to talk to

 **Charlie:** Well, we can do that, Sir!

 **User:** well whats it like?

 **Charlie:** What is what like?

 **User:** the talking or whatever

 **Charlie:** Well Sir, the men and women here are more or less trained to keep you entertained in any situation. Even if you're awkward, they're pretty smooth about handling it.

 **User:** are you one of the rentals?

 **Charlie:** Oh God, no. No, I'm just the tech girl. I run the site and create appointments and all that stuff. It's quite a workload.

 **User:** a workload? I get where youre coming from

 **Charlie:** Oh really?

 **User:** yeah. I was so stressed about work last night I went out and got so wasted I thought I was talking to Snape

 **Charlie:** Snape!? Like from Harry Potter?

 **User:** yeah

 **Charlie:** Good call, Dude. I can respect that! My fave is Hermione.

 **User:** yeah, shes a cool character

 **Charlie:** Cool? She's the best! I LOVE Hermione SO much, Dude.

 **Charlie:** So much.

 **Charlie:** But. Yeah.

 **Charlie:** Sorry.

 **Charlie:** This was about you.

 **Charlie:** So, are you looking for someone to just talk to over the phone or are you trying to see what a live appointment would be like?

 **User:** a live appointment

 **Charlie:** Well, a live appointment kinda goes how you want it to go. The rent-ees are pretty flexible. They'll show up when and where you need them. If you just wanna talk, that's what they'll go. If you decide to do something else, that's okay too. I mean, you'd be the one paying, so most wouldn't complain. Plus when signing up you can add in special requests if needed. Bring flowers. Bring swimming suit. Please send red-head. No funny accents. Whatever you want, we'll try to get it to you.

 **User:** and its never awkward?

 **Charlie:** Maybe for you, but it's their job to meet new people every day—they're pretty charismatic.

 **User:** how do I know who I get?

 **Charlie:** We make that choice for you. It's easier that way, but we do send an email for you to confirm your order and that usually has their name in it. You can look them up in our directory.

 **User:** how long does it take to make an appointment?

 **Charlie:** Depends on who is available. It's usually not too long. Just give a day's notice.

 **User:** oh

 **Charlie:** Yup! So anything else I can say about the business?

 **User:** will it always be you here to anwser my questions?

 **Charlie:** For now. No one else is around, but the boss man has plans to expand.

 **User:** okay

 **Charlie:** You wanna set something up?

 **User:** should i?

 **Charlie:** Well, I don't know. If I were to do my job, I'd try to convince you in order to get more business.

 **User:** is it expensive?

 **Charlie:** Well, depends. Phone services are something like, 10 an hour? But live appointments vary. Sometimes you can haggle with the person being rented, but our minimum is 30 an hour?

 **User:** thats a lot

 **Charlie:** That's the business, Dude. But yeah, it sucks.

           

            That's a lot of money. Maybe if he thought about it for a bit, he could change his mind.

 

 **User:** I gotta go

 **Charlie:** Alright Dude, hope I was of service!

 

            Dean exited from the website and closed the laptop. He did have that extra money from Zachariah...he wouldn't be losing anything. Except maybe some self-respect. Was there any way he could convince himself that it wasn't that bad? No, because it was buying friendship, and that never works out. Was he lonely enough to do it anyway? Ah, it doesn’t matter. He didn't need to think about it if he was busy working. Dean begrudgingly grabbed one of the old crosswords, opening to one halfway complete titled: COMFY HOME. After struggling with a six letter word for dresser, because who even uses the word bureau anyway, Dean managed to waste enough time until the dryer cycle was completely over. He was a little relieved to be alone and whistled while he folded. Just for a second, he could stand to be alone.

            However, sitting at home, curled up with a dog he didn't even really like, watching re-runs of Dr. Sexy M.D., and eating a bag of chips...that's when it started to get lonely again. Every once in a while D'Artagnan's cold nose would brush the inside of his arm. He tried to call Cassie four times already and didn't want to bother her any more with leaving messages. “Well, Boy? You feeling sleepy yet?” D'Artagnan nuzzled his nose into his arm, panting more rancid dog breath and no answers. “Oh, alright...” Dean nudged the dog off his lap, shutting off Dr. Sexy M.D. as he was providing one of his signature winks. “We're going to bed, and tomorrow I'm gonna do the stupidest and loneliest thing I've ever done in a long time.” Dean checked to make sure all the lights were out, crawling into bed and resentfully calling D'Artagnan to join him. It wasn't ideal, but he was used to the warmth and the space being filled. He slept alright, but that Saturday was best left behind.

 

            Dean woke up knowing that he wouldn't have the most productive day. Beyond taking care of D'Artagnan, he didn't have anything to do. He could send a text to one of the guys from work. Sammy. Cassie. He'd already texted her a few times though, and she seemed so busy. Dean opened his laptop, with no real intentions to do anything. He just so happened to end up at Rentalsociates.com. And, well, Charlie seemed like a cool guy, so he decided to drop him a line.

 

 **User:** Charlie?

 **Charlie:** Yes, this is Charlie, may I ask who I'm speaking with?

 **User:** that guy from yesterday. The one who saw Snape.

 **Charlie:** Oh my goodness! It's the dude! Hey, I didn't expect to here from you again!

 **User:** why not?

 **Charlie:** You seemed kind of antsy. Like you didn't want anything to do with us.

 **User:** I dont know. I guess im just bad at making decisions.

 **Charlie:** Meh, for some it takes time. I've heard of plenty being uncertain of our business, but it really isn't anything to lose a sweat over. It's just some fun.

 **User:** you really think so?

 **Charlie:** It's not my place to judge either way...but there's nothing wrong, just don't over think it.

 

            Now was the moment. Do it or...well, do it or don't do it.

 

 **User:** how soon do you think I'd be able to have a meeting?

 **Charlie:** I know I said we'd like a days notice, but we can set you up for today. If you're in a rush it can be within the hour.

 **User:** Well, if you could then...I'd like to make an appointment for today.

 

            Dean had to give out his contact information as Charlie linked him to the “Become a Member!” page. There was an email almost immediately afterword. It was to “confirm a payment method and take a short survey”.

 

 

 _Do you prefer phone or live contact?_ Live

 _Method of payment?_ Cash

 _Date of meeting?_ Today

 _Length of date?_ Hour

_Place of meeting?_

_Address?_

_Phone?_

  1. _Do you find it difficult to approach strangers?_ Kind of
  2. _Do you like to plan or be spontaneous?_ I tend to over think things, so planning is a little stressful
  3. _Do you receive change well?_ Well enough, I think
  4. _Do you like to control things?_ Yeah
  5. _Do you enjoy talking?_ Sometimes
  6. _Do you enjoy going out?_ Sometimes
  7. _Do you express your feelings well?_ Not really
  8. _Are you happy?_ Not right now



_Other Requests:_

Please make it a dude. I have a girlfriend and I don't want it to be weird

 

            He returned the message and soon enough Charlie messaged back with a conformation.

 


	2. More Money, More Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean making mistakes and meeting Gabriel for the first time.

             Dean clicked the hyperlink and ended up at a Google Map to somewhere in the middle of the city. On the corner of Wash and Wade. Clubbing? There was a club there? Dean didn't usually go too far into city, so he couldn't be positive. Oh well, he took the number and programmed Gabriel Crist into his contact list. He'd probably never use it, but it was there.

            It was already ten, and he hadn't eaten anything yet. D'Artagnan weaved through and around his legs, happily panting and probably hoping to play. “Nothing here for you, Buddy.” Dean didn't like talking to animals, but he was a lonely soul and like it or not he needed the interaction. The sound of the refrigerator was the only noise to accompany him as he stared into a pan of scrambled eggs. It was quick, he ate straight from the pan and started to worry about the meeting again.

            Dean didn't talk to strangers without a reason. It was his job to interact with others, but it was his job to make them happy—to serve them, because the customer is always right. Dean has seen his fair share of strangers, and it's amazing how much shit people will give to strangers. How easy it is to be hated. Those boundaries were paper thin. So, Dean didn't like to bother strangers.

            Well, if someone approached, gave some sort of hint, he was a little more confidant. He wouldn't have met Cassie though if she hadn't tipped the new and awkward waiter with her phone number. That was over two years ago. Cassie told him about it a few times. That she loved how Dean tried too hard to stick to the usual script but then he accidentally called the diner “Denny's.” She laughed and laughed, and Dean remembers that too. He felt like a complete idiot, and he's grateful it turned out to be worth the embarrassment. But wouldn't it difficult to get that same sort of read when the person was...paid to do it?

            Dean pulled onto Wade, parking just before hitting Wash. He sat and looked around for where Gabriel might be, noticing a present lack of clubs. He didn't know what or who to look be looking for. Things were going south fast, and Dean was beginning to lose the nerve to stick around. But he had to get out. He complained about being trapped in his job, so he had to at least try. Dean left the safety of his impala, and stepped onto the sidewalk. Everyone might as well have been looking at him, because that's what it felt like. Dean lowered his gaze, stretching his legs and looking for where specifically he was supposed to be. He tried to be inconspicuous at first, pretending like he knew what he was doing—but soon enough, he was (he felt anyway) obviously lost, squinting at each sign and trying to get a peek inside each window he passed while trying to decide where to go next. He stopped in front of Fridge and Freezer. It kinda sounded like it was one of those lame “cool” names (pun intended) that clubs used. Then, he read with a closer look; Fridge and Freezer: Ice Cream Parlor. Crap. “Well, where the hell—”

            “Glad to see you finally made it, Big Boy.” Dean tensed as an arm wrapped around his shoulder and pulled him in. He even fought back a little, breaking away to face the short dude who approached him from out of nowhere. The guy rose an eyebrow dramatically. “You are Dean, aren't you?”

            “How'd you guess?” So this was Gabriel. Dean relaxed at the sight of him, contrary to what he expected—but anything would have been better than being stood up by someone you paid to be there.

            Gabriel's expression widened with Dean's verification. “Process of elimination! The last few guys didn't receive me as well... Guess I should have asked for a description or something, but I never learn. Eh, it was fun.”

            “Fun?”

            “Well, I gotta laugh out of it.” Gabriel tossed his hand out, gesturing to the ice cream parlor. “And here we are.”

            Dean looked at the Fridge and Freezer. “But, you had said-”

            “I say a lotta things, Dean-o. The real skill is to find the meaning.” Gabriel chuckled. “And ain't that the same for every situation that gets us into trouble?” He wrapped an arm around his shoulder again, guiding Dean inside. It was an awkward reach considering his height, but he made it work.

            Inside it was pleasantly warm considering that it was an ice cream parlor. Gabriel walked over to the long buffet of flavor choices, tilting his head to beckon him over. Dean double checked to see who was around. A couple families. Not a huge crowd, but then again, it was nearly winter. No one wants ice cream in this weather. Dean stood next to Gabriel, not sure what to do with himself. They were together and all...but what were they actually doing? “So, Dean. You gonna eyeball me the entire time, or you gonna get something?”

            “Get ice cream? In this weather?”

            “Aw, it's not that bad, Dean-o. A little sugar is good for growing boys.” Gabriel gave a little wink before facing the choices before him. Dean watched him a little longer this time, absorbed by how seriously his company was debating his choices. If he was going to make a choice, Dean already had it made. A young woman stood alone at the furthest end of the buffet, behind the register with her candy striped uniform. She put on a smile Dean was familiar with providing to customers, “Hello, and can I get you anything today?”

            “A strawberry cone, please and thank you.” He caught sight of her name tag before she turned to fulfill the order. Candy. How fitting. Dean finally looked at the prices, digging out his wallet and making sure he had exact change as Candy returned. “Here you go, and thanks a lot Candy. Have a nice day.” Candy smiled, and this time it felt much more genuine as her eyes squinted in pleasure. “You too, Sir!”

            Dean nodded, taking a small bite off the top and leaning against a wall to watch Gabriel again. It took the guy a few minutes, but soon enough he had three scoops of an unknown flavor and came around and lead Dean again to a spot near the big front windows. “So, where'd you hear of the business?”

            Dean took a bite, giving himself time to think. “Well...I met Zachariah. He came in on one of my late shifts and gave me his card. Also gave me a huge tip, so I didn't think it'd hurt to try.”

            “Met the big bossman, huh? Yeah, he likes to get out and gather customers by hand when he can—where you working?”

            Dean grimaced. “I'd rather not talk about work.”

            Gabriel nodded. “Alright, we won't. So, you got any questions for me, Dean-o?”

            “Yeah—are you gonna stop calling me that?”

            “What?” A smile slipped onto his expression as Gabriel leaned back into his seat. “Dean-y Boy, whatever do you mean?”

            “You're used to getting away with anything, aren't you?”

            “Well, I do hear that I'm charming.” Dean rolled his eyes, but allowed Gabriel to stick to his ways. They both didn't do a whole lot outside of that. Gabe defended his love of sweets. Dean spoke fondly of his baby brother and his work in law school. He talked about his love/hate relationship with D'Artagnan. He talked about how weird it is to being living alone at the moment.

            “Someone out of town?” Gabriel asked, taking a nibble out of something called “Cinnamon Trail.”

            “Yeah, my girlfriend, Cassie.”

            Gabriel smiled knowingly, nodding. “Ah, I see. The girl's outta town. That's why we're here, right?”

            Dean scoffed. “No...”

            “Man, it's alright if you're just not used to...fending for yourself. With your experience with Sam, it looks like you're used to having someone always there for you. Or...you're used to having someone around to care for.”

            “I have the dog.”

            “Not the same, Buddo. Can't play big brother with a dog... and when was the last time you took care of yourself, Dean?” Dean frowned, nibbling his cone. He didn't act like a big brother to Cassie. No, he treats Sam totally different. “Dean?”

            “I don't know.”

            “Ah, that's a problem, isn't it?”

            “No, it's not. Helping my friends and family—that is how I treat myself. Through them.”

            “Never selfish?”

            “Of course I am. I'm selfish, I'm rude, I'm forgetful, I'm stubborn, I hate my boss, I hate my job, and... I'm unhappy.” That last part barely bade it out. Like all the words were in a race to the finish, those last couple were the slow folks who just barely made time. He was such a baby, why was he even whining about this? Dean looked at Gabriel and that was that. Gabriel was the easiest person he'd ever talked to. Interested, alert, curious...

            “No. I meant—don't you ever do something for yourself? From what I see, you’re giving up your life for the people around you. Doesn't anyone do things for you?”

            “The things is, they do everything for me. I can't complain—and giving and protecting them is the least I can do.”

            Gabriel ran a hand over his face, scrubbing it down. He grabbed a slip of paper from one of his pockets along with a pen. “Ya know, Dean. It's getting to that time. And hopefully you had a good time, I had a good time. I'm gonna give you my work number. If you wanna try this again, and you don't want to go through the trouble of meeting a different somebody each time, you can make an appointment with me directly.” Gabriel scribbled a number and passed it over. “And you were paying cash?”

            “Oh. Yeah...” Dean dug out his wallet again. “Uh, how much?”

            “Thirty.” Dean passed the money to Gabriel. “And don't think that I was just doing this for the job, Dean, but it is the job. Now, I don't give out my number to clients I'm not interested in seeing again. Call if you like—my line's open.” Gabriel slipped out of his seat, tipping his head in a final acknowledgment before walking out the door with a tinkle of bells. And Dean didn't feel too bad actually. He expected guilt and shame, but it was so relaxing and casual... Dean finished his ice cream, flipped up his collar in preparation of the cold, and trekked back through the wind to his baby. He sang along with the radio and arrived happily at home. D'Artagnan greeted him with pleased barking and Dean approached the furry companion, unleashing him and leading him inside.

            “Don't get any ideas, we're going straight back to normal once Cassie gets back.” There was no reply, because the stupid thing didn't know any better either way. Dean took his laptop into the kitchen with him, opening a browser as he gathered ingredients for dinner. He was gonna cook something slow. He had a lot of chicken, so that was it then. The browser came to life and Dean navigated back to Rentalsociates.com and clicked the hovering “Talk Live To Staff.” The chat came to life with a:

**Charlie:** Hello, this is Charlie! How can I help you?

            Dean found the poultry under some frozen peas, taking it out to thaw, running it under hot water (a deed Cassie wouldn't be happy with considering the wasted water) for the sake of time.

**User:** It's Dean

**Charlie:** Dean?

**User:** The dude who got drunk with Snape

**Charlie:** Ah, just found you! You made an appointment—how'd that go?

**User:** just got back actually. it was pretty ok

**Charlie:** I'm taking a look here and you spent time with Gabe? What do you think of that guy?

**User:** he has some character

**Charlie:** I'd say so. But he's cool. What did you guys do, if you don't mind my asking?

**User:** We had ice cream

**Charlie:** In this weather?

**User:** Yeah.

**Charlie:** Impressive. Glad you enjoyed yourself.

**User:** Um, he gave me his work number too. If I wanted to request him again.

**Charlie:** You exchanged numbers? Man, what about me?

**User:** ?

**Charlie:** I'll give you my personal number. Text me about business or pleasure—whatever you want!

**Charlie:** I'll send that to you over your personal mail though.

**Charlie:** Ya know—gotta be professional here. Take a look, I already sent it! Dean took a look, and just as she said, an email from GrangerDanger_85.

**User:** GrangerDanger?

**Charlie:** Hermione is the best, Dean. Now, just text me already so I can get your number.

            Dean did just that, and soon enough he received a text back, “Got it, Dude! Now, do mess with me on that awful chat client unless it's business!”

            Dean smiled, shutting off the computer and dealing with his chicken and trying not to trip as D'Artagnan occupied all walking space. The night went peacefully—no anxiousness about life. Just doing a few things he enjoyed. Cooking for himself. Listening to the radio. Wasting more water by taking a shower until the hot ran cold. Eating with a more mild flavor rather than the spice that Cassie grew up with. The girl could handle a heat Dean couldn't. Then he dug around in the entitled “junk drawer” and found an old Rubik’s cube and fiddled with it while some cheap television show played in the background. He didn't have to think about anything but what was directly in his hands, arranging the colors. After eleven, Dean packed up for bed, bringing D'Artagnan with him again for a warm body to sleep with.

* * *

 

            Monday was a bad taste in his mouth right away. It struck him as he was getting dressed the next afternoon. Things were the same. Nothing was changed. He was going back to his miserable job and that was that. Dean felt the weight of that realization and he didn't mind going a bit slower. Delaying the ultimate misery it seemed. He took his time tying D'Artagnan outside and took his time with driving the speed limit. He only managed to be a few minutes late though, because he couldn't afford to be late. Mandy wasn't around to catch him, lucky enough, so Dean headed to the employee cubbies, grabbed his apron and tied it just as tightly as he tied on his working smile. He took a detour through the kitchen, seeing Benny for the first time since last Friday.

            “Hey, Brother. How was the weekend?”

            Dean stopped. “Good. Just relaxing while Cassie's out.”

            “Where's Cassie?”

            Dean fiddled with the pen inside his front pocket. “Her sister's getting married. The ceremony isn't until December, but a few months ahead planning is normal I guess. She'll be gone until this Sunday.”

            Benny smiled, nodding appreciatively. “Aye, a wedding takes much more planning than a person'd expect.” He raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a more suggestive grin. “An' you know, once she gets a taste she'll be craving more than that.” Dean's expression froze. “I'm not telling you to start planning yourself, but it wouldn't hurt, you know?”

            “Y-yeah...” Marriage, huh. It's something he definitely thought about. Not so much recently. But Benny was right—who wouldn't think about it? Dean was hallow for the rest of the day, occupied by thoughts of commitment. They'd dated for almost two years now...it's the most committed Dean has been to someone who wasn't family. The entire relationship was pretty classic. Movie dates. Dinner. Sex. That was nice. She is a smart woman, someone who had goals, and she is going to reach them. It was a year before they actually moved in together. Cassie had been dropping hints and Dean aimed to please—the day he asked her to pack up, she laughed til she cried. It was an entirely different world to be living with Cassie. It was too easy to get used to her presence. She would join him in watching Dr. Sexy, M.D., her laugh bloomed in silence, and her body was a perfect fit right at his side (when D'Artagnan wasn't interrupting); Cassie changed Dean for the better—he's positive. He'd have been miserable without her. He loved her in so many ways. He's thought about it all. Marriage. Kids. The package. He'd wanted it.

            But why was it so hard to swallow now? Dean continued his usual interactions throughout the day, but not with sincerity. Instead he continued to count out all the pros to finally taking those last baby steps into making a family. He loved Cassie. He'd love to have a kid or two. Cassie would make a great mother. She would always support and love him. She wouldn't ever rush anything. She's walked at his pace so far, and was willing to continue. She understood him. There was so much good there. It was literally killing him. Dean shot Charlie a text, seeking advice.

**CB:** It sounds like you're really over-thinking things, so maybe you should just stop thinking about it for a while. Just take a breather.

_I cant. Theres nothing else to think about here. Its been bothering me for three days now_

**CB:** Well, talk to someone!

_I am. You_

**CB:** Talk to someone in person. Connect.

_I am_

**CB:** Good lord, Dean. I don't count.

**CB:** Don't you have a friend there?

_Benny. But I dont know if I can really talk with him_

_hes too close to Cassie and I._

**CB:** What do you want me to say, Dean?

_I dont know. I just want to stop thinking about it_

**CB:** Dean, I'm at work too ya know. And should you be upholding a text conversation while at work?

_No but what else am I going to do_

**CB:** I don't wanna sound like I'm soliciting you, but you did have a good time with Gabe, right?

**CB:** Why not call him?

            Dean grimaced. He had kinda planned for that to be a one time thing. Well—maybe not. He'd planted the number in his cell anyway. But he really didn't want to...

_I gotta go cya_

            Dean scrolled down his contact list, hiding away in a corner with a good view, just in case Mandy should happen to approach. He found Gabriel, giving him a call. The phone picked up in the middle of the second ring. “Some go to Heaven and some go to Hell-o, this is Gabriel speaking.”

            “Hello?”

            “Hello! Can you hear me now?”

            “Yes.” It's was the opening that kind of threw him off. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hello, this is Dean.”

            “Dean! How are ya? Things good?” It was like talking to someone who was your best friend. It was weird, because they'd only met the once, but Dean spilled so much of his life to him already.

            “Alright...”

            “Oh ho, so you're doing miserable, eh?”

            “Not entirely, I just need to distract myself.”

            “And you thought of me? How sweet of you!”

            “Do you think you could visit me tomorrow? At work?”

            “Dean-o, I'm here for your pleasure. I can be wherever you want me to be if you got the cash for it.” Right. This wasn't free either.

            “Uh...are you particularly busy?”

            “I'm free enough.”

            “I kind of would like someone here for me at work, but my shift lasts til 11:30 and that's a lot of money. I can't afford that.”

            There was a smack on the other side of the receiver followed by a low hum. “Ahhh...what are you thinking then?”

            “I, uh, I don't know.”

            “I don't have a job penciled in, but I could miss out on a better opportunity if I spend it all with you on a discount.”

            “You can leave if you find a better offer.”

            “And you're not gonna give me anything? That's not gonna be easy to explain to the boss.”

            “I'll pay for your food.”

            “I get a free meal?”

            “I'll pay, alright. How about...you let me pay 10 and you only need to stay half the time?”

            “How long is your shift?”

            “Close to 11 hours.”

            “Is that even legal?”

            “Gabriel.”

            “So I'll be there almost six hours at ten an hour with free meals. That's 60 bucks, plus all I can eat.”

            “And you can leave earlier if you find a better deal.” There was another slurping noise. “Come on—its business, isn't it?”

            “Dean, I'm not supposed to haggle these prices.”

            “But that's $180.”

            “It's cheaper than a decent prostitute.”

            “Please.”

            “Dean, Zachariah is gonna have my ass if I make a deal like that. I like you, but that's a no-can-do. You gotta stay in that minimum price range. And I'm doing you a favor there, 'cause a lot of the guys here think their time is worth their weight in gold, you know?”

            Dean groaned. $180 was a lot of money that he shouldn't be spending. “Isn't there anything you can do?”

            “I'm sorry, champ. All good things come at a price.”

            “I'm sorry too.” Dean hung up, conflicted in how things turned out. Maybe he could get through this without someone.

            “This isn't my bill.”

            Dean looked at the paper still in the hands of a man whose fingernails could use a power wash. “Excuse me, Sir?” Dean asked, confused with the statement.

            “This isn't my bill.” The man insisted. It was a lie of course. Dean catered this, rather rude customer, with his gritty stubble and patched flannel, and eyes glazed to look like they were covered in grease.  “Yes, it is.”

            “No. It isn't.”

            “How isn't it yours, Sir?” Dean kept his voice level, taking the receipt to look at it closer.

            “You overcharged me.”

            “Overcharged?”

            “Yeah. I didn't order a tall stack.”

            Dean looked at the receipt. “Yes, you did. I wrote it out. I gave it to you myself.”

            The guy's nostrils flared. “No. I ordered a small stack. I'm not paying for that.”

            He had to be kidding. “Sir, you did order a tall stack. It may have been an accident, but that is what you ordered.”

            “No. I ordered a small stack.”

            “Sir, the menu doesn't even advertise “small” stacks. There is tall or short.”

            “Well, I asked for a small stack, I would think you'd then understand that I wanted a “short” stack.”

            “But Sir. You ordered a tall stack.”

            “Are you accusing me of lying?” The man sneered, giving the most gawd-awful look of indignation. “I wanna speak to the manager.”

            Oh crap. “Sir-”           

            “I won’t talk to you any more, go get the manager.” Why? The guy ordered what he ordered—it wasn't the waiters fault!

            Dean roughly handled the receipt, shoving it in his apron as he stormed towards Mandy's office. She was going to tear his ass apart. Again.

            Opening the office door and peeking in, Mandy was already looking up and making eye contact. “Winchester.”

            Dean fully reveled himself.  “Mandy—Boss.”

            “What is it this time?”

            “A customer wants to speak with you.”

            “Christ, Dean!” Mandy ruffled her hair, looking around her office before grabbing a clipboard. “Why is it that all I ever get is bad news?”

            “I'm sorry.”

            Mandy sighed while walking past. “Yeah, so am I, Winchester.” Dean followed, only to witness the most one-sided argument ever. The customer had nothing but insults for Dean, for the food, and for the establishment—Mandy took it all quietly, promising him better service, paying off that part of his bill, the works. And the works killed Dean. That asshole didn't deserve anything, and even worse, he's going to talk badly about the diner, no matter what they did. Dean hated this job. He hated it So. Damn. Much. People could be so horrible. Horrible to complete strangers.

            “Boss, I have to go home early tonight. I'm sick.”

            Mandy looked up as Dean almost immediately entered after she'd returned to her desk. She looked him over briefly. “Okay. Feel better. Good work.”

            Dean tore off his apron while leaving, heading into the small employee area, shoving his things into the little cubby before riding his wave of anger out the door. He drove home carefully—he didn't want to put his baby in danger—but when he parked in the driveway, he brought his fists down on the steering wheel. It didn't hurt enough, so he repeated the action one, two, three more times before allowing himself to settle down. Only, he didn't settle down. He's spent way too much time in that black hole of misery. It was sucking the life out of him. It shouldn't be this hard to get up for work in the morning. What was he even trying to do here? Dean got out of the car, leaving D'Artagnan to sleep in the doghouse that night. He didn't want to deal with this crap. Do not pass go. Do not collect $100. He went straight to bed, sick of everything he had to deal with.

            They say not to go to bed mad, and maybe they're right. Or maybe it was just realizing that he was getting up to do it all over again. He needed a holiday. But he had no time, no money—so he was left with the same thing every week, working himself to misery. Dean seriously dreaded that he wouldn't be able to last. His cell was in the same pocket of his jacket he was still wearing from last night. He scrolled down and called Gabriel for the second time. This time it was picked up after two full rings. “Betty's BDSM Boutique. All of our operators are “tied up” right now, so leave a message you bad _bad_ boy. ”

            “Excuse me?”

            “Come on, that was funny! Gabriel speaking.”

            “It's, uh, Dean again.”

            “Dean? You didn't think that was funny? I would have thought you had better humor than that!”

            What? “Yeah, very clever. I, uh, I'm calling about yesterday. I'm gonna make that appointment. And I'm gonna make one for tomorrow. And you're gonna come the entire twelve hours, you're not going to leave even if you want to, I won't get you free food, but I'll pay whatever other price.”

            There was a silence over the phone that was completely unreadable. A deep breath. “Ya sure, champ? You didn't really seem too confident in your finances your last call. If $180 was too much, nearly 24 hours at $30 a pop isn't gonna be cheap.”

            “I don't care—why are you trying to talk me out of a sale?”

            “It's not a sale, Dean, if you don't have the money. And they might not have this written in any small print, but Zachariah doesn't play nice with those who skimp out on paying.”

            “I'll have the money.” All he had to do was crunch some numbers. Make it to the end of the week. Then he'll figure out what to do next week, next week. Dean was used to it. Living day to day—making ends meet. “So, be there. The beginning of my shift. 1:00.”

            “What, am I psychic? Be where?”

            “Perkins.” Dean hung up before he could be questioned any more. He quickly texted the rest of the information to Charlie, and let the one whose job it was to deal with it handle the rest. He lied in bed for a few more minutes before finally gathering up the energy to get out of bed. Without someone around, it was pretty easy to lose that motivation he needed. Cassie was gone. Before that, Sam was gone. Before that, Dad was gone. And even before that, Mom was gone. Dean wasn't meant to work alone.

            That's what was wrong. Beat him, break him, call him names—but don't ever leave Dean Winchester to live alone. To be alone. Because the loneliness is what kills. It makes a miserable job, worse. It makes a responsible boss seem bitchy. It makes a beautiful relationship feel ugly.

            Dean ate cold chicken. It suited the mood. The fridge kicked in again, humming louder than anything. He stared at his phone. Maybe just to hear her voice would help.

            “Dean?” It wasn't Cassie though. No—this voice didn't spiral and bloom and melt into sweetness. No, but he still recognized it.

            “Marissa? What are you all doing up so early?”

            “Gotta rise early. We have another appointment at a bridal gown shop.” Dean could hear a bustling in the background as the women were going about their business. “Cassie is out to start the car—she'll be back in a minute-”

            “No, it's okay. I was really just calling to check in on her, and if everything's alright, then I'll leave you ladies be. Good luck.”

            “Thank you, Dean. And, I'll see you in a few months for the wedding.”

            “Wouldn't miss it.”

            “Couldn't miss it. I'd come after you myself, Winchester.”

            “Alright, alright. No need for threats—later.”

            “Oh, Cassie's back-” Dean hung up. He slept in what he was supposed to be wearing, and the least he could do is manage to take a quick shower before heading out.

* * *

 

            Gabriel was already there by the time Dean got to his post. Passing by a table of customers just came in, he bee-lined to the corner booth. “Hey, what can I do for you this afternoon?”

            Gabriel looked up from the formica tabletop rubbing his hands together as he gather his thoughts. “Ah, waiter, I guess I'll have some... caramel apple pie. I have a long day ahead of me, ya see.” He held up a deck of cards with a design of angles swooping down and holding some disk with more flowery designs on it. “I gotta beat my record. Solitaire. I'll be here for a while.”

            Dean nodded, jotted down the order, and sent it to the people in the back. He'd ignored three call-backs from Cassie and wasn't feeling any better from it. Dean's mind was occupied with commitment and marriage and the future...and finding out where he was getting $720. He got shit for pay and this week was gonna kick him out of an entire paycheck. People came and people went and Dean didn't care. Mandy had asked him if he were okay, and he didn't give an honest answer. Benny waved cheerfully whenever he was in sight and Dean didn't like having to force back a cheerful response, so he tried to avoid him—again, not making him feel any better.

            Dean took short breaks with Gabriel as often as possible, casting off much of his usual work for sitting and filling his fermenting pit of a stomach with something other than guilt and frustration. Gabriel ate his pie and played his cards, but whenever Dean came around that was his sole attention. “You know, Solitaire hardly takes up thought to play,” Gabe drew a black 4 of spades and hovered it over the rest of his cards before placing it in the discard pile.

            “And?”

            “Annnnnd...” Gabriel quickly discarded another. He looked up with a shrug. “I dunno. Just a fact. What—do I gotta make everything a parable? So, what's up with you?”

            “Feel like shit.”

            “Why ever would you feel that way?” Gabriel stopped hovering over his cards and gave more of his attention.

            Dean lowered his head, noticing the way a table of customers searched around from their seats—probably looking for refills. “Everything. I wish I wasn't here.”

            “Why don't you just quit then?”

            “I don't have that freedom!” Dean immediately corrected his volume to less of a shout. Gabriel scratched along his jawline, eyes concentrated on his cards again.

            “Not to be noisy, ehem, nosy Dean-O, but what's got you tethered to this sinking ship?”

            “Cassie.” He responded without a thought—the only reason he was staying was to provide some sort of financial support for her. This job was supposed to be temporary, but time got away from him. He had to help pay for Sammy, and go out on dates, and anniversary gifts, and grocery shopping, and then the house, and then the bills...

            “Your girl?”

            “Yeah. She's still away helping her sister plan for the wedding. She's never there when I call, it takes her forever to text back, and when she does I get things like,” Dean grabbed his phone and searched through the text bubbles. “Things like, 'I'm fine! Marissa looks absolutely beautiful in her gown,' 'The flowers are pink, but I'd prefer lavender,' 'She said that Jean's so nervous he can't sleep at night!'” Dean put on a mocking tone as he scrolled through the unanswered texts. “It's getting to her head.”

            “Marriage?”

            “Yeah.”

            “How long have you been together?”

            “Two years.”

            “Well, I don't see any need to panic. People have gone longer than that without gettin' hitched.”

            “I've never told her that I love her.” Gabriel's expression twitched, but remained passive. “And her being gone has got me thinking about it more and more. Gabe, I'm starting to doubt myself.”

            “What's to doubt?”

            Dean stood up without answering, finally tended to the parched family, refilling four Sprites. They didn't have anything nasty to say this time around, leaning out of his way and then drinking as soon as they were topped off. On returning the pitcher back to the kitchen, Dean could see Chuck at the register, waving him over. Alfie was on his way to the kitchen as well, so he passed the sprite pitcher to the newbie and walked over.

            Chuck didn't look too excited, but then again, he always had a look of a criminal with a weak-hearted disposition on lineup. His collar was turned up on one side and Dean stared at it. “Something you need over here?”

            “Oh! Uh, I don't need anything, not really...” Dean looked down to see him absently scratching his pants. “I just thought that you'd like to know that Mandy was looking for you-”

            “What?” Dean snapped his attention to those eyes with heavy lower lids that made Chuck look like a man who got along on less than five hours of sleep. Chuck recoiled, but worked back into a straitened position, “She's looking for you, Man. I dunno. I just thought you should know is all...”

            Dean breathed deeply, heading back to Mandy's office. “Dean,” she greeted. “Where have you been?”

            “I've been working.”

            Mandy looked less than impressed. “Oh really? The few times I've been able to get out of this room, I've only seen you once. Alfie came in here because suddenly it feels as if he were carrying more weight than usual. Not that the poor kid was blaming anyone, but that got me to thinking there might be a problem. Dean.” Mandy leaned forward, concern finely sculpted into her face. “Is everything alright?”

            No. There was plenty wrong. Stuff he needed to work out. What was to doubt? He loved Cassie. How much did he love Cassie? Did he want to get married? Yes, but did he want to marry Cassie? Did he want to marry Cassie? Was Cassie just another someone to take care of—a replacement for Sam? Who does that? Is that something people even do? Was Gabriel full of crap? Dean sure was full of crap. Couldn't even tell her how much he loves her... “Sorry, Boss. Skipped breakfast is all—I'm not the same without something in the pit...but I had lunch a while back, so I'm getting better.”

            “I hope so.” Dean was dismissed to work again, and this time he spent less time with Gabriel and more time actually working, if only for the sake of the other workers. He grew numb to the mediocrity, absorbed the animosity, and drifted though his shift with a few pit-stops with Gabriel to refuel. As it grew later, the flow of customers fell to a zero and Dean was able to sit down without a worry.

            “You know, today just isn't my day...” Gabriel sighed, shuffling all the cards back into a single pile. Dean cracked a wry smile, “It's never my day when I gotta work here...”

            Gabriel put the cards back away in their box, leaving it out on the table top. “Where would you rather work then?” Hm? Dean frowned, puzzling over a question he never thought to ask. Where would he want to work?

            “Dean?” Chuck was slinging on a messenger bag, tired looking and anxious all the same. “Mandy says that we're closing up shop early cause she has some sort of emergency at home.”

            “Thanks.” Chuck nodded a few more times than necessary before walking out back to the employee parking lot. Not that Dean has ever seen Chuck with a car. He looked back at Gabriel, who checked his watch with interest. “Welp, it wasn't an entire ten hours. I'll round down to nine.”

            “You're so generous.”

            “Hey, I don't need any sass! Before anything else, this is a job... Seriously, though. Do you have the means to pay for this?”

            “Can I pay it all tomorrow?”

            “You still want me to come tomorrow?”

            “I have it,” Dean grated out.

            Gabriel threw his hands up in surrender. “Alright, calm down Big Boy! I'll write out an IOU. Fine!” Gabriel pulled a booklet from his inside front pocket, followed by a pen that Dean could see had the business name “Rental Associates” on the side. “I'll write down the information here...” He wrote quickly, tearing out the sheet afterward and giving it to Dean. “I'll get Charlie to take care of this, and I hope you'll be ready to pay for tomorrow?”

            “Yes.” Dean put the paper in his pocket, feeling it like a lead weight. He didn't give thanks. He left Gabriel to gather himself together and leave on his own terms. Dean put his half apron away in the usual cubby and drove home.

            Entering the driveway, D'Artagnan started up with a racket and Dean resentfully unleashed and brought him inside. There was no ignoring responsibility, even if he was in a bad mood. The dog hopped on its front paws, wiggling and barking his way into the kitchen. “What makes you think you deserve anything?” Dean followed, heading straight to the cupboard furthest to the right. There was a bag of bacon flavored strips, for dogs. D'Artagnan knew what was happening, clicking his claws on the tiled floor and using his inside bark. “Yeah, yeah...” Dean was able to open the Ziploc with one hand, hook a finger around a treat, and toss it to D'Artagnan who smacked his jaws around it with a cheerful, wagging tail. “Good enough for you?”

D'Artagnan left without thanks and Dean swallowed with a dry throat. He felt drained. It wasn't even worth making leftovers. Opening the fridge, Dean took out Cassie's unopened baby carrots and decided it would suffice.

D'Artagnan was already sitting on the couch and Dean went to plug in the TV. It began to hum, and he pressed the power button to see the screen come to life and the sound start warning about the dangers of not wearing a seat belt when driving. He picked up the remote on the arm of the sofa before fixing himself underneath forty ponds of smelly fur. The faded pink and blue checkered quilt Cassie'd gotten from her grandma was pulled over the two of them as Dean and D'Artagnan watched another commercial for promoting Lasik treatment.

            There was a humming in his pocket and Dean reached to look at his phone.

Miss you. Can't wait to be home

            Dean pressed the phone icon next to Cassie's name. She picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”

She sounded so uncertain, and it made Dean regret his little juvenile way of ignoring her. “Hey, Cassie. I'm sorry I didn't get back to you sooner—it's been a rough day.” “Oh no. What happened?” “The usual, I guess. But we don't need to talk about that. So, you enjoying yourself? Marissa evolve into Bridezilla yet?” “What makes you think Marissa is the type?” “You're right. You are definitely the lizard of the family.” “Ha. Ha. Dean, you think you're so funny sometimes, but you know what?” “What?” “I love you anyway.” Dean couldn't withhold his smile, feeling a warmth all through his body. Cassie always had the best timing. “You too.”

            D'Artagnan stuck his nose up by the receiver, in the process rubbing his cold wet nose across Dean's cheek. “Augh!”

            “What is it?” Dean pushed the head down and away. “Friggen dog. He's just here on the couch watching some television. Taking up all the space.” Cassie giggled in the face of his distress, but that just made things better. Dean smiled some more hoping it didn't translate in his voice as he replied, “It's not like I asked for this Cass!” And they talked late into the night and Dean longed to have her right beside him. He fell asleep with the TV on, curled up next to a dog, and with the sound of Cassie's breathing from so far away.

* * *

 

            Dean was both unhappy and grateful that he had a timer set on his phone to go off during the week. The sound of a malicious choir of birds assaulted his right ear, causing him to lurch upright leaving his phone to slide off his shoulder and fall face down onto the carpet. D'Artagnan barked, jumping off the couch to survey their surroundings. Dean sat up, grabbing his phone and taking too much time to press the correct combination of buttons to stop the noise. For a moment, with his memory of last night's conversation still keeping him warm, Dean felt the day wasn't so bad. He showered quickly, ate a quick breakfast, and went to work feeling refreshed.

            Gabriel was at the same booth as yesterday, this time with an open laptop and a folder full of a bunch of stapled documents. Dean approached with a curiosity. “Can I get you anything?”

            Gabriel looked up with a closed smile. “Is there some sort of special muffin basket that I can order or something like that? Or do I have to buy them individually?”

            “I...think? Just wait-” Dean backtracked to the register, where Chuck also had the fun job of handling the baked goods.  “Chuck?”

            Chuck jumped like he were caught with his pants down. “What? What?” He repeated, trying to sound more relaxed the second time around. “Uh, how can I help you? Dean?”

            “Is there some sort of bulk sale on the muffins?” He was trying to keep this as brief as possible, but he couldn't help being distracted by Chuck's distraction. His gaze continued to drift over his shoulder toward the part-timer...Becky Something-or-Other.

            “Yeah...” It was just barely a mumble, and Dean hit the counter gathering Chuck's jittery attention. “Huh?” Chuck snapped his head back to look at Dean.

            “Is there some sort of muffin thing?”

            Chuck looked at the muffins in the display behind him as if this were the first time he'd laid eyes on them. “What? Oh. I think. Something like...seven?”

            “Seven what?”

            “Oh, seven muffins. For the price of fewer? Do I have to ring it up?”

            “No.”

            “Okay then.” Chuck turned and leaned his weight on the counter. He was picking at his nails and looking tired and meek as usual. Dean looked back up at Becky, whose voice traveled quite the distance as she welcomed another customer.

            “Hey,” Chuck looked up confused that he still had attention to him. “You have a thing for her?” Dean made an oversized nod in Becky's direction, which Chuck followed before realizing who Dean meant.

            “I never thought about it too much.”

            Dean nodded, leaving Chuck to do whatever Chuck does, returning to Gabriel. “You can get seven for the price of fewer. It's a risk you gotta take.”

            Gabriel nodded. “Alright. One of each, except exchange the blueberry one for another raspberry cheesecake one.”

            Things went pretty well. There weren't too many customers and most everyone was polite. He talked with Benny a bit about his life. Turns out he has a niece visiting the area, so he was excited to visit with her. A group of teenagers came in and asked for a round of pancakes and coloring sheets, which Dean obliged with although it was a little silly. He still took breaks with Gabriel and asked about his own project he was working on.

            “What?”

            “What're you up to?”

            Gabriel looked at the papers that he'd spread out before him. “What am I up to?”

            “Yeah.”

            Gabriel clicked his pen a few times. “Well...” He looked over what was before him, as if trying to figure how to sum it up. “Dean, I've got my fingers in many pies. It takes a lot of careful planning and there isn't anyone who can do the job better than me.”

            “You don't just work for the rental thing...”

            “No. That is my day job—it's strongly client based, and I can't risk my only form of income on what's mostly chance. No, I have a few businesses that I work in.” Gabriel shifted though his papers, lifting a corner. “I have a little business of my own. Lots of paperwork, but lots of gray area as well.”

            “So, what are you then?”

            “I work in directing. Producing. A little dabbling in acting if the mood strikes me.” And Dean couldn't put his finger on it, but he felt the absence of detail was somewhat suspicious. He ignored it though, because in the end he was probably just gonna get a long explanation of something perfectly normal and boring and he wouldn't have wanted to hear it anyway. He got an answer and that's all he asked for.

            Later, Dean hid back in the kitchen to give Cassie another call and she was excited about a new bill on green energy that just passed that prevented something from something or something—he didn't follow her words and more just enjoyed the way her voice came rushed and breathy and rolling high and low with her excitement. “But, are things going well for you?” Dean clicked his tongue, thinking about his day. “You know what? It's been decent.”

            “Oh, that's fantastic! Anything special happen?”

            “Nothing special—but that's just fine with me.”

            “Good. And speaking of special, I got you something special~”

            “Special?” Cassie made a noise of conformation. “And you're not gonna tell me what it is?” She made another noise telling that she was indeed keeping it a secret. Dean tried to fathom what it might be. Honestly, he could never be sure. Cassie had...interesting whims when it came to gift giving. Last time she got Dean some blue-blue shoelaces because she knew it was his favorite color. She even laced them up herself—a labor of love. Dean pictured those white tennis shoes with blue-blue laces that he told himself he would use to go running. It was an unconventional gift, but it was more of small bit of affection to show that she remembers the littlest of things. “I can't wait. I gotta go now—can't keep 'em waiting too long.”

            “I love you Dean, have a good rest of your day.”

            “Alright. You too. Have fun with your sister.” He stumbled over the return of affection, hanging up before he made a fool of himself. Benny gave him a nod as Dean passed by, and Dean was able to nod back with not a work smile but a real smile because he was actually content. He looked over the heads and he looked at Gabriel working of whatever. He looked at an empty table.

            What? He must have misplaced them. Dean's eyes swept the perimeter of what he'd thought was the correct table, then again around the entire room hoping he was only going crazy. There wasn't much to see, and that was a bad thing. Dean quickly stepped over to the table, looking at the sticky dishes and stick people drawn crudely in crayon preforming just as crude acts over the cheerful smiling mascots. Maybe they all went to the bathroom. Maybe they all just went to the bathroom at the same time.

            Dean shuffled over to Chuck who was standing and looking bored. “Chuck.”

            He looked amazed, as if he just woke up at the sound of his voice. He turned his head, looking at Dean with watery eyes that held back a yawn. “Hm?”

            “You didn't happen to see a bunch of kids walk out of here not too long ago, did ya?”

            Dean could almost see the process going on as Chuck flipped through a mental index of what happened. “Uh...yeah? Yes? I mean, if this is the right group of kids, yeah, I think?”

            Dean screamed a few panicked curses in his head before he ran out the front door in the small chance that— But the coast was empty. No one on the sidewalk. The street was abandoned. Well, it might as well have been. They were nowhere in sight. Six teenagers decided to dine and ditch, and that meant that Dean had to pay for six meals, and twelve hours, and God just was never on his side, was he?

            The cloud of dark-feelings condensed quickly, as the day suddenly became another day in hell. He wanted to quit, but he couldn't. He should stay for the day, but he wouldn't. He was going to take it out on everyone else around him if he didn't evacuate soon.

            He walked back over to Gabriel, who obediently put down what he was working on to focus on his client. He wasn't allowed a word though, and Dean leaned over him and kindly asked for another IOU and that his time was no longer required. He checked in with Mandy to notify her about the offense and to simply take it off his pay check. He politely notified that he was going through a crisis and for health reasons he would have to leave work early.

            Dean returned to Gabriel, taking the little slip of paper that totaled up the price for six hours and left calmly out the back door. He calmly drove home. He stopped at each stop sign. Drove exactly the speed limit. He parked, and patted D'Artagnan with no intentions of bringing him inside today. Dean didn't eat. Dean didn't drink. The feelings inside of him were so sharp and dangerous he wouldn't trust himself. He felt like he was collapsing into himself, and he definitely had a history of self-destruction and so did his dad and everyone knows what happened to him and Dean didn't want that for himself. Dean went to bed.

* * *

 

            Half of Saturday was gone. Dean was still in bed with two IOUs “$270” and “$180” and he was also missing out on half a day's pay. He could work a weekend. How much were bills going to be this month? They might have to dip into the savings. “They.” As if Cassie had anything to do with this situation. It was all Dean's fault. If worse came to worse, he could sell something.

            He let the equations sit stagnant in his brain, not ever changing and yet he always went back to thinking about them. This wasn't doing anything. Dean rolled out of bed. He put on a black hood and sweatpants, stopping by the kitchen for a handful of the almonds they kept in a jar on the counter. Outside, D'Artagnan yipped at his presence and Dean appeased him with a few good pats on the head. “Time for some exercise.”

            They both ran a short distance. Jogged an even further distance. And finally, they walked. Dean wasn't much of an exercise junkie, but he was doing pretty well considering. They passed places they'd never been. They took a detour through a park. They didn't think—they just plowed forward. Step after step. Let the natural processes of the body make everything better. Clear your head. Become purely physical.

            They both stopped for a bite to eat at a gas station. Dean bought two hotdogs, one for himself and one for D'Artagnan. They sat on a bench and as the dog smacked his jaws together with Dean watching the meat chewed into smaller and smaller bits until they were gone, he pondered the idea of a dog eating “a dog” and then a little bit after that pondered whether or not it was unhealthy to feed a dog hotdogs. They had traveled in a somewhat circle, so they were only a few blocks away from home by the time Dean decided to head back.

            His sweat was freezing in the wind now, and he was grateful to get back inside. Dean went to the kitchen, heated up the stove, and warmed himself up while making a comfort burger. It was big and full of all the good things. It was the most filling thing Dean had in a while.

            Dean went back to the bedroom and dug around in yesterday's clothes for his cellphone. A few missed calls from Cassie and a text from Charlie. Dean looked at the text first and read:

**CB:** Dude. An IOU?

            Maybe there was something he could set up. He still had Zachariah's card. He said that he'd negotiate prices. Dean dug through his wallet, taking another look at the number before dialing. There was a ringing and a woman picked up with a, “Hello, this is Rental Associates, how may I help you?”

            Dean felt his heart leap and of course the number didn't just go straight to Zachariah... “Uh, I'm calling to speak with Zachariah? He gave me this number.”

            “Oh, of course. Can I just get your name?”

            “Dean Winchester. He met me at a Perkins if that helps...”

            There was a pause. Maybe they were transferring- “Dean? As in bartender Snape Dean?”

            “Uh...who is this?”

            “Dean, it's Charlie!” And until this point, it never crossed Dean's mind to think that the Charlie he'd been talking to all along had been a girl. Frankly, it was a little shocking to finally be talking to him, or actually, her.

            “Oh. Hey.”

            “Dean, now I'm not trying to be too nosy, but the bills go right through my hands and I have to say that you have spent a lot of money...”

            “That's why I'm calling Zachariah. He said he'd negotiate prices or something.”

            “You're going to tell Zachariah? Dean, that's a terrible idea. You want him to find out already?”

            “But, he said that he'd work with me-”

            “He says that because he has to. Zachariah has no intentions to help you—he a business man! He out to make money.”

            “So he won't help me?”

            “No, Dean. He'll be angry that you've cost him business already, and then try to dig some extra cash out of you to make up for lost profits. This is a professional opinion here when I tell you to avoid telling Zachariah as long as possible.”

            Great. “Then what am I supposed to do? How do I pay these back?” Dean help up the slips as if showing her across the phone.

            “Uh...” There was some tapping on a keyboard and Charlie spoke up, “I can upgrade your membership—it'll be temporary—and that'll open up the option to make monthly payments? I'll put you down for a year, and then it'll be paid off in no time!”

            This was too much stress. He was starting to get a headache. “Alright. Okay.”

            “Okay? Okay.”

            “Thanks then.”

            “Bye, Dean. And good luck.”

            Charlie hung up and Dean stared into his phone with a frown. Was this better or worse? He didn't know.

            Dean went about the house now, cleaning and rearranging and ordering things for Cassie's return. It kept his mind occupied. He called her back and soon enough her voice rang through the phone. “Hello?”

            “Hey, Cass. Sorry I didn't call back sooner. I spent a day out with the dog and I didn't bring my phone.”

            “It's okay. I just can't wait to be back home.”

            “I can't wait either. I'm thinking about what I should make as a welcome back dinner,”

            “Oh really? Well, what are you planning?”

            “I dunno yet. You want input?”

            “No. I want it to be a surprise.”

            “You're lucky I didn't give anything away then.”

            “I am... Dean?”

            “Yes?”

            “I love you.”

            “You too.”

            “Dean.”

            “Hm?”

            “Do you love me?”

            “What? Of course.”

            “I know it's a little late to be asking this now, but we've been together for two years. You never—never mind.” There was something lost in the sweet voice he was used to as Cassie put up a defense. “I'm trying to understand why...I mean, I know you love me, but sometimes...” There was a deep inhale. “Never mind. I take it back. I love you, Dean, but it's late, and I have a long day of travel tomorrow. Night.” She hung up before Dean could say anymore.

            Dean felt sick.


	3. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean needs to tell Cassie how he feels.

            “I made breakfast!”

            It was half past five and Cassie was dressed formally with her courier bag slung across her chest. She looked into the kitchen, her face crowded with what might have been sympathy, but just as easily could have been annoyance. Maybe both? “Dean, I'm gonna be late...”

            “No, wait!” Dean called to stop her even though she hadn't moved an inch. “I have this just in case...” He brought out a full Tupperware, sealed with the meal he'd made even earlier that morning. “I've got something packed—I just don't want you taking off without breakfast again.” At first he'd thought it might have been a special occurrence—the next morning Cassie was gone before he'd gotten up. But then it happened again. And again. And then when Dean woke up earlier, and she began sleeping in later—leaving in a rush, no time to talk, _I've got to catch the bus_. Dean walked around the small kitchen table to Cassie, holding the dish at her eye level. “Most important meal of the day.”

            It took a second as Dean bobbed the Tupperware until Cassie sighed and gave in to the prodding. “Okay.” She took the food, putting it under her arm. “I don't see why you insist on getting up so early to make breakfast.”

            “So I can spend some time with you in the morning.” He tried to sound charming, but all he heard was the clash of a script being read by the wrong person.

            Cassie hung up the phone after that confession about four weeks ago now. He'd immediately panicked, but after the initial gut reaction—there was nothing. Not nothing, but nothing like there used to be. He had the rest of the night for himself to think. It really had been two years...two years, and he'd actually managed to avoid saying definitively, “I love you.” He had to have said it at least once...or at least once? Dean went to bed confused that night. Why had it taken so long to get to this point? What were they going to do now? When would things go back to normal?

            As it turns out, getting things back to normal was more challenging than expected. Their entire atmosphere chilled along with the cold November weather. The excitement Cassie and Dean had shared about her return was dampened. They both had dinner together the night she came home, shared small talk, and the only one who looked comfortable was D'Artagnan because he was a dog who didn't understand the complexities of human relations and he was also on the receiving end of table scraps. Afterward they entered the living room where Cassie had settled on the couch with the dog filling the space beside her. Dean stood with attention to the way her hand caressed the animal's ear.

            Were they going to talk about it? She wasn't saying anything. Was she angry? Dean shifted his weight from foot to foot, as if he had to physically work himself up to an answer. The answer he finally managed wasn't much of a satisfying one: it's easier to keep quiet. “How was the planning? Everything in order?” he asked tentatively.

            The moment Dean began to speak, there was a spark. Cassie looked up, listened, and then fell inwards as whatever she was looking for did not come to be. “Yes. Everything is in order...”

            “That's good. I guess the moves must be exaggerating, 'cause I thought all weddings required at least one mandatory disaster.” Dean shuffled through what was left of his index of small talk. “Marissa excited?”

            “Yes.”

            He wasn't getting any feedback. “You excited?”

            “Of course.” Cassie answered curtly, with a weight of dissatisfaction. It was a weight that they both felt, and Dean felt even more uncomfortable because it wasn't even an argument. He could deal with shouting, but how was he supposed to handle this? After a few more minutes of silence, Cassie looked up with a tired expression. “I'm sorry, Dean. I'm just not feeling well... I guess I'll be going to bed.”

            It's been the same every day since then. Four weeks of a weird suspension of normalcy and communication. Most nights, Cassie was asleep by the time Dean returned home. Most mornings, she was gone before breakfast. The few times they did speak, things weren't resolved with a few apologetic yet loving words—that's how their problems were solved before. They'd get into a fight, and the next morning Dean would cook breakfast and Cassie would smile and everything was normal. It was so easy that way.

            Cassie motioned to her food with a colorless smile. “Thank you, Dean. I'll see you when you get back.” She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek before whisking herself out the door, leaving open the solution Dean craved. If he accepted, they would both go on as normal and leave the problem where it lay... It would have been perfect if weren't for the fact that this wasn't normal any more. And if this wasn't normal, that then begged the question, what is normal? Considering the load of problems he already bared, rather than trying to figure everything out, Dean slumped back to the bedroom to catch a few more hours sleep before getting to work.

            Now, aside from personal issues, finances were being stretched. Cassie wasn't allowed to know about that though, so the losses had to be made up for on Dean's time. A few days after Cassie decided to allow Dean the easy way out, he applied to work mornings at a local pawn shop. It was a strange position, but the place was hiring and it wasn't anywhere Cassie might walk into. She was still gone early most mornings, and they really didn't get to talk much—that meant that Dean wouldn't necessarily be hiding anything and Cassie wouldn't be suspecting anything.

            Bobby's Salvaged was run by Bobby Singer, a geezer who specialized in collecting things no normal person would be looking for. But, for those who are looking for that something special, buyers could look forward to a wide selection including hot items such as; books foiled in copper-turned-green, arcane sigils hand sewn with red thread over paisley rugs, bottled papers with the still vintage seal, a display case filled with small animal bones...all sorts of unnatural kinds of items. Now despite its strange products, the place still got business, so to each their own.

            What Dean was most grateful for was that the application process was easier than expected. Despite Dean's little work experience, he got a call back almost immediately. Didn't even need to interview—just a few words growled over the reviver, “Can ya come in at seven? Good.”

            Dean didn't know what to anticipate on his first day. He arrived at Singer's Salvaged at fifteen-to. Turns out there wasn't any use in the early arrival though, because the old man didn't walk up to the inside of the door until seven on the dot.

            Dean got out of the Impala, walking up once he saw movement behind the storefront windows.

            “Morning, Mr. Singer.” Dean greeted in his respectful customer service voice. Bobby's face creased.

            “It's been a long time since I've been called Mr. Singer. The name's Bobby.”

            “Bobby then,” Dean corrected, sounding more cheerful than he actually was.

            The grizzly man turned his back and started to walk into the shadowy shop. Dean remained on the landing, taking a moment to look at the designs carved in the door frame. They were...definitely unique. Mostly odd combinations of primary shapes—

            “Ya need an invitation to cross the threshold? Get on inside already, I'm not looking to hire a doorman.”

            Dean dropped his observations, hopping through the doorway before he started making a poor first impression. Inside, he was surprised by the air of “home” that possessed the shop. He took a look around, absorbing his surroundings. On the left side of the little entryway there was a coat rack and a small pegs holding a few dull keys. On the right there was an old wooden staircase. Straight ahead there was a door with a taped piece of paper that read: STAFF ONLY. Bobby stood in front of it, looking into the room on the left. “This is the display area...” He gestured with a hand, then trudged after the directed motion, leading Dean into a mix of showcasing and living room. It had all the right elements of a living room; a couch, a fireplace, dusty photos on the walls, an old radio playing static and Sweet Home Alabama. But then, there were also the glass cases, dusty shelves, and tables arranged in no appreciable pattern. If anything, to Dean it looked more like a garage sale sans garage.

            They weaved to the other side of the living room, and Bobby gave direction for Dean to take a seat. The sofa sank in comfortably with Dean's weight. “Alright, so I'm gonna give you the rundown,” Bobby wobbled around the displays, “These are the product. You gotta keep an eye on costumers, 'cause you don't know who you can trust.” He picked up a rock roughly sculpted into a standing crescent. “If they gotta ask you what it is, they don't have any business buying it.” He set it back down and went to bookshelf in one corner. “I've got all sorts over here, but don't allow anyone to browse through too long, cause this ain't no library.” He tapped a glass case that was within reach—inside, there were a handful of little cubes, like dice, only decorated with some strange eastern characters. “No one's allowed in these displays aside from you or me. I'll get you the key in a second. If someone asks, you tell 'em that we need a full purchase beforehand.” He circled back around in front of Dean again. “I also got some merchandise downstairs, and no one's allowed down there beside me. If someone's looking for something specific, find me.”

            Dean inhaled the scent of fire and decay. “Do you have a cash register or...”

            “I was getting to it.” Bobby looked back over his shoulder to a desk that was along the wall near the entrance to the shopping area. There was a metal cash-box, a table lamp, a pen holder, and some books that Dean couldn't see very well. “Over here...” Bobby limped toward it, Dean picking himself up to follow. “These are your record keeping books.” Bobby picked up military green notepad filled with wrinkled grid paper. He opened it and inside were pages of cleanly written entries. “You'll get along just fine looking up at the previous orders to see what you gotta put down. Most of the products here have got a label with that information on it.” He slapped the book down. There was an umbrella holder by the desk as well, filled with umbrellas, from which Bobby withdrew what looked like a fire poker. “And if someone wants one of those, you can reach it with this here.” Dean looked up to watch as the man prodded at a net overhead supporting a load of rolled rugs. It didn't look very stable, but the owner didn't seem to be too worried about it. Bobby put the poker back in the holder, clearing his throat. “Now, come on this way...”

            Bobby led him into another door labeled STAFF ONLY. Dean wasn't sure what he expected, but it sure wasn't a kitchen. Bobby walked over to the fridge, ducking his head inside before coming out with two beers clutched in his hand. He closed the door with a clink of glass and hoisted the drinks in Dean's direction. “Now, don't tell me your one of those who like to refrain from a little of the...?”

            “Nah.” Dean took the beer, opening it with a little twist. He watched the man across from him do the same before raising the drink to his lips. “So...you usually allow drinking on the job?”

            “Kid, this ain't rocket science or nothing. I'd think a man'd still be responsible enough with one or two.”

            They both stood around the fridge in what Dean pictured as the classic office scene of chatting around the water cooler, sipping in silence as they each went through their own mental processes. Dean was the first to break with the question, “What if someone wants to sell?”

            “You get me. If I'm anywhere, I'd be in here or upstairs.”

            “What's upstairs?”

            “My home.”

            So, it wasn't just some weird design. It was actually a house... No normal business would be successful running out of a civilian home though, right? “What kind of product are you selling here anyway?”

            “Relics. But I already told you, if I have to tell you, you've got no business buying. You understand?” Dean understood that he was supposed to understand. He nodded. “Good. So, I'll babysit this round, and you'll be working til?”

            “I can work until Noon.” He might have sounded positive, but he was also dreading the consequences. Dean hadn't done the math yet, but he had to wonder when, exactly, he would get the chance to sleep, eat, etc. He's getting up at 6:30 now, so he has twenty minutes to get to his new job here, and at noon he had an hour to get to Perkins and take a nap, and an hour to get back home before midnight. That's only if there are no delays. There are gonna be delays. If he sleeps from midnight to six, he can get six hours plus a little time for a shower or making breakfast.

            Bobby nodded, looking like he agreed with Dean's math (although he couldn't have possibly known about the math going on in his head). “Good.”

            The two finished up, and excited back into the living room/shop. Dean tensed in reaction to the sudden appearance of a customer. “Don't look so surprised,” Bobby said in a nearly chastising tone. “That's just Rufus. An old customer.”

            Rufus looked up, without a hint of amusement. His entire aura was severe, with intent to kill. “Don't you talk to _me_ about _old_ , Singer.” However, the two broke the illusion of animosity with a few chuckles. Bobby grunted himself onto the sofa, and Rufus clicked around a handful of what looked like black marbles. “These fossilized hydra hide. Smooth as glass, harvested from the river Styx.” The man turned toward Bobby, looking as severe as ever. “Had to go to Hell and back to get these.” His scowl broke with another chuckle.

            “Bring 'em over here.” Bobby waved him over, and the two men made their business at a register that made them sound more like they growling at each other. Dean stood over by the desk Bobby had labeled as his work station. He didn't know what his impression should be of the place. Kind of cultish, but it didn't look like they were serving out the punch or anything. Most of the stuff looked like garbage, or maybe potential for avant-garde home interior decorating. But what was weirder was the “Bucket List club” over there. Dean tried to remain non-nonchalant as he listened to the business being made across the room.

            “What ----------- I can't trade in for a few hairs of a -------- buried at a crossroads?” Rufus grumbled.

            “I'm getting a ---------------- of what you're planning---”

            “You have no right --------- you're not ----------- Now, this is a good deal.”

            “------ and I'm starting to doubt -------”

            “----------------------- to save a --------------”

            Hair buried at a crossroads and hydra hide—could be drugs. Or fancy herbs and spices. They could just be crazy. Dean sat down at the desk, sitting parallel to their conversation. He could have decided to be suspicious, but neither of them really looked like they could do harm. Dean grabbed one of the notebooks he was supposed to be writing orders in, taking a closer look. He closed the book soon after. It was nothing but a bunch of serial numbers.

            “Just take the deal, Bobby,” Rufus announced clearly.

            “Alright...” Dean watched as Bobby rocked himself to his feet and begrudgingly took the marble-things. “But I might as well have gone to Hell to fetch 'em myself. My knees are burnt out and now you've got me climbing into the damned basement to get your...” The last part faded away as Bobby closed the door to the STAFF ONLY room which Dean now knew was the kitchen. Rufus stuffed his hands into his raggedy flannel pockets, taking oxidized steps toward Dean.

            “You hunt too?” He asked.

            Dean's memory was tossed into the past, to the only time he ever held a gun, right after his dad died. “No, Sir. Never been.”

            “Good.” That was a bit bewildering. Dean figured he had pinned Rufus' type down. That he was the primordial type who thought all the old ways were the best ways. Rufus shook his head gravely, “You don't wanna end up like me, boy.” There wasn't any conversation beyond that. They waited with Rufus trying to suck something from between his teeth until Bobby returned with a drawstring pouch.

            “You old sunnova...”

            Rufus took his bounty with a nod, “Right back at you, Bobby,” walking at a quicker pace as he exited out the front door.

            Bobby exhaled with a sigh on his breath before heading back to his seat.

            “Do I have to...write that down?” Dean opened the notebook again and at the jumble of numbers and letters.

            “I gotta book downstairs for those kinda orders...”

            The hours dragged on, and there was only one other customer who wanted a five-piece candle set. The rest of the time was spent in that particular silence that comes with being alone with someone new. Not that Dean didn't try—it just turned out that Bobby was excellent at ending a conversation at a word. Dean stared at the old radio, the only source of sound, until a grandfather clock in the walkway struck twelve.

            Bobby leaned further back into the sofa, crossing his arms. “Just write you time in the margins. Haven't had an employee in a long time, so I haven't taken time to make time sheets or whatever.”

            Dean thanked him for his time and left. He sped to his next position and allowed himself a quick nap before signing in. The week was rough. The week after that was worse. Not in the same terms as it was before; it felt less hostile and much more ominous. This feeling was probably aided by the fact that with less than six hours of sleep, with only a few naps between, Dean was left cognitively drunk. His eyes were open, but everything was moving faster and Dean was moving slower. Time was lost in abnormal places, and he would forget how he got to work, and good portions of his free time was spent dazing comfortably at a stationary spot on the floor, and maybe he fell asleep—he didn't know. It was as if his body was going into hibernation with all the other creatures—albeit, a little late, considering it was already December.

            He knew in the faintest way that this was unhealthy. Finally, Dean sat down late one night after work. The house was dark and he had to think, to at last grab on to his life and try to harvest the pieces. The snow in his hair was melting and traveling in cold streaks behind his ears. The sofa was no longer cushioning him, probably because the seat was exhausted too, or dead. The lights were retired, leaving the streetlamp outside responsible for the illuminating the gloom inside the small living room. Dean rested his elbows on his knees, slumped forward with his hands holding his head.  As the drops of snow fell to the carpet, he could also see them reflect a spark of gray light from outside. Where did the time go? He checked his phone, temporarily blinded by the back-light, before seeing it was just after midnight.

            The house was cold. Cassie liked to save energy, and “Just layer and add a few blankets!” That's what she used to say. That what she would say. But when was the last time they had a conversation? Not the routine, _want breakfast? Thank you. You're welcome. See you later._ type conversation either. A real conversation. Dean attempted to count back in his head, but gave up because it didn't matter and it was difficult to count. Something bad was happening. This was the first time in a while that Dean wondered what Cassie was doing. Was school doing okay? Was the internship still stale? Were there any new…energy bills passed that she cares about? Does she need anything picked up from the store? The questions dripped onto the floor. And wasn't it her sister's wedding this weekend? Were they still going? It was hard enough to think of the questions, let alone the answers.

            Dean was tired, and in more than one way. There were a lot of things. And he felt alone. The same kind of feeling that he got when thinking back into high school about that friend he thought would always be his best friend. Where was that...that cow lick with the rockin' guitar skills? He couldn't even remember the name, but Dean could see him now. He was probably the best influence Dean ever got outta high school. Really strait-laced. Could dish a joke, could take a joke. That damn hair of his wouldn't be tame for nobody. They could experiment together. Try new things. No judgment just...brotherly. Like a brother. More than a brother. Maybe Dean wasn't remembering correctly. But why haven't they ever spoken? It didn't make sense. Where was he now? Anywhere. Nowhere. Definitely not alone, cold and soaked, sitting in a dusty old living room...

            Cassie was going to leave him.

            It only made sense. She must feel it too—that things were far too gone to fix. It'd been more than a month. Fighting it would be useless, and he didn't want to fight anyway. He'd rather let himself be swept away by it. Washed away in the icy waters, and feel numb to it all. The snow that ran alongside his nose wasn't cold. It was warm and it made his eyes ache.

            This was too much to be sorting out at this time of night. Dean made way to the bathroom, deciding on a hot shower before bed. The water burned and the steam rose and he closed his eyes and let the roar fill his thoughts. Cassie wouldn't like the waste of water. Dean regretfully climbed out and toweled off in front of the mirror, facing the pluvial expression that watched him with malcontent. He walked naked into the bedroom, dressed back into a pair of dirty pajama bottoms he'd left in the hamper the morning before, and crawled under the covers. D'Artagnan was wedged between them, a living heater, and Cassie was breathing slow and deep. It would be easy to drop off at this point. His body was heavy, and the release from consciousness was tempting. Dean rolled to his side, facing the inside of the bed.

            “Cassie?” She was still asleep and so he rose his voice to a conversational tone. “Cassie. Wake up.”

            Cassie didn't move, but there was the soft sound of a more self-aware breathing. Then, came a little noise. A hum of question.

            “Cassie, are we still going to your sister's wedding this weekend?”

            Finally, he heard her voice, chipping away a bit of the silence between them with, “Yeah.”

            “Do we have a gift or something?”

            “Just some money in a card.”

            “How much?” … “Never mind.” … “Cassie?”

            “What is it, Dean?”

            “How is school?”

            The sheets rustled as Cassie rearranged herself, facing Dean. “School is good.” He voice sounded closer than ever in the dark, and Dean couldn't see her face but that was welcomed because the mask of shadow made things easier.

            “Internship still boring?”

            “Things are actually getting better. I'm feeling good about where I'm going with it.”

            “Do you think you're going to be hired afterward?”

            “I think I might.”

            “That's good...”

            “Dean?”

            “Mm?”

            “Work still terrible?”

            “It's rough.”

            “I'm sorry...”

            “Don't be... Cassie?”

            “Yes?”

            “Have you been eating breakfast every day?”

            “Yes.” A hand reached out and cupped his cheek. “Get some sleep Dean.”

            Dean brought a hand up, entwining his fingers with hers, allowing himself a bit of solace for the rest of the night.

           

* * *

 

            Cassie already had everything packed when Dean came home from Bobby's Salvaged. He'd already gotten the approval for an unpaid holiday away from Perkins and Bobby told him today that he was closing up shop for the Christmas holiday anyway.

            “I wish we could bring D'Artagnan.”

            “You know how uncomfortable it makes me to have him in my car.” Dean picked up the two suitcases that Cassie had left on the couch. One for each of them, which was an amazing space to fit a week’s worth of supplies.

            “He's a good dog!” Cassie called from the kitchen as she put together her choice of snacks for the ride.

            Dean stopped in the doorway as he was on his way to the front door. Her dark fingers individually picked grapes off the bunch and prewashed the baby carrots. “You want to deal with putting a dog on a flight?”

            Cassie kept her hands moving as she looked over her shoulder at Dean. “No. That's why he's in the kennel. I just feel bad leaving him in there for so long...”

            “He's gonna be fine, Cass.” Dean backed out of the doorway again, bringing the suitcases to the open trunk of his car. The two of them had to drive four hours up into Minnesota to get to Marissa’s place, and then Cassie had to be ready for the rehearsal dinner at eight. Closing the trunk, Dean headed back inside only to catch Cassie on her way out. Her jean jacket was on and she had two small tupperwares of snacks in one arm as she was closing the door on her way out.

            “Do you need anything still?”

            “No, I was just coming to get you.”

            Cassie smiled, stepping out of the door completely and locking the front door. “Well, I think we're ready.” They both walked side-by-side to the Impala, but soon Cassie took the upper hand and jogged around to the driver’s seat.

            “Whoa, wait. What are you doing?”

            Cassie stopped with her foot already through the driver’s side. “I'm driving, Dean.”

            “Why?”

            Cassie looked at him in a knowing manor. “Dean. I don't know what you've been up to, but you're tired. I can handle taking over the wheel for a while.” She wasn't wrong. Dean didn't feel much like fighting her argument, and even the mention of sleep made the inclination desirable. They both ducked into the car, Cassie passed off her snacks and started the engine. Dean leaned back in his seat, watching her, and having every intention to stay awake and keep her company. “Dean, just take a nap. I'll wake you up when we get there.”

            “Dean, we're here.” Dean blinked a few time before taking in his surroundings. The car was parked and Cassie was unbuckled and leaning into him. Her hands ruffled the top of his head, the corner of her mouth turned up in amusement. “Have a good sleep?” His mouth was dry, and he'd probably been snoring. Smacking his lips and trying to gather a bit of salivation, he asked if they were at Marissa’s already. “Yeah. We gotta get in there and put away our bags. We get one of the guest rooms.”

            Dean groped by his side for the handle, opening the door and taking off his seat belt after trying to get out without unbuckling it. Cassie already had the trunk open, propping up the handles for Dean to come and grab. Taking the suitcases, they both approached the front door of the magnificent house that was Marissa Robinson's, soon to be Echikunwoke. The door on the front porch opened and the party of family and friends flowed outside into the snowy front. Cassie ran into her older sister's arms, hugging her tightly and the groom Miki Echikunwoke came and took the luggage from Dean.

            “Thanks man.” He called at Miki's back as he wove around the people and back into the house. Martin Robinson came forward, putting an arm around Dean's shoulders.

            “How's everything going down there with my daughter, Mr. Winchester?”

            “Well, Mr. Robinson.”

            “Good to hear, son.”

            The noise out on the porch was a noise of excitement and reunion. Breath rose and hands clasped in greeting and smiles spread infectiously. Dean didn't recognize a big portion of the group, but he could always see Cassie as she gasped at how big someone had gotten or laughed at an old joke or gave kisses to an old relative.

            “What is everybody doing out here!?” Everyone turned to Audrey Robinson who stood in the front doorway with a gaudy Christmas sweater. “It is snowing! You'll all catch colds right before Marissa's wedding!”

            There was universal agreement, and the party moved back into the house with more hugs and warmth exchanged. The bodies shuffled to the living room, and Cassie's hand found his again and guided him to a white recliner with printed cherry blossoms. Pushing him into it lightly, she sat across his lap, lying with her feet hanging over the armrest.

            “Where's Miki?” Marissa looked over the noisy crowd, eyes searching as the same man snuck up behind her. A few of the crowd caught sight of him with withheld snickers. Dean watched the pair of hands poised like the bare bones of an open umbrella. Miki acted quickly, giving a squeeze to Marissa's sides and earning a shriek. The living room fell into all breeds of laughter, and even Dean had to chuckle a bit as Marissa took her fiancé into a headlock—oh wait, she wrapped her other arm around him and they shared a kiss. Cassie angled herself more toward the group, using Dean as an anchor as she leaned in to say something to a friend or a relative with rosy cheeks and beady eyes.

            “Do you know Dean?”

            “How is your Holiday?”

            “Was the drive alright?”

            “You are such a liar!”

            “You've a lovely house, Miki!”

            “Thank you for saying so.”

            “When's the rehearsal again?”

            Complements and questions and stories and answers overlapped, and Dean was left to bask in the energy of the night. In his head, Dean tried to recall the vaguely familiar faces. Mrs. Robinson sat neatly on the matching ottoman near their feet, her spine strait and her fingers constantly coming up to catch her laughter. Mr. Robinson stood in the doorway to the kitchen, the light glowing warmly behind him highlighting the gray hair that was usually more difficult to see. Marissa, of course, with short flapper styled hair, and a dimpled smile. Miki was maybe even as tall as Sam, except Miki out-competed poor Sammy with hair that legitimately ran past his shoulders in a thick, black braid. The woman closest to them, the one talking with Cassie, Dean didn't remember. Listening to the conversation it was Aunt Mayfold. There was another couple on the other side of the couch, a pair of tan and shriveled people who guffawed loudly and called Miki “Son, oh, son!” which then Dean allowed himself to conclude they were Miki's parents. There were pair of teens, a boy and a girl, both with braces and sitting under a bigger man called Randy. The boy had black and white braces, and occupied himself with a smart phone. The girl had purple braces and laughed along with the conversation between Randy and the man Dago Cruz who Dean couldn't tell if he was family or friend. Marissa split away from Miki, so he could entertain his parents, and entered a group of lively women standing behind the couch. Dean recognized Anne who preferred to pencil in her eyebrows, and Darcy Hugo who had been a friend of Cassie and Marissa since middle school, and Salma Portlander.

            “How's college, college kid?”

            Cassie rolled onto her back, and looked over her head to see the four women looking and smiling. “You talking to me?”

            “Yeah!” Darcy piped up, giving a small wave for her to come into their group.

            Cassie sat up, hopping over the armrest and walking around the recliner to talk with her friends. Aunt Mayfold had redirected her attentions to Mr. and Mrs. Echikunwoke and Mrs. Robinson took herself from the chatter to spin and face Dean completely. She smiled with a closed mouth and leaned in as if they were exchanging secrets. “Hello, Dean. I didn't get a chance to welcome you yet.”

            “It's not a problem, Audrey. You excited for the wedding?”

            “Dean, I am so happy to see my girl happy. That's all that matters.”

            “Of course there's that. And hey, you might be able to expect grandchildren not too much later, right?”

            Mrs. Robinson's eyes widened. “Are you and Cassie expecting?”

            Dean threw his hands up automatically, hyper-conscious to not let the idea take root. “No, no, no, no! I meant, like, you know! The two getting hitched! Not...not me and—”

            Mrs. Robinson let out a giggle, putting her hands to her mouth as if that would ever hide the sound. “I was joking with you Dean, I know what you meant.”

            Dean's heart had leapt into his throat, and it was hard to talk around it. “Oh. Uh...” He let out a sheepish laugh before relaxing back into the recliner. Mrs. Robinson baked a fresh smile, eyes searching the man before her.

            “So, how are things going for Cassie in college?”

            “Good, I guess.”

            Mrs. Robinson raised an eyebrow that in turn created a mass of wrinkles that each questioned Dean's answer. Dean rushed to make sense of such an uncertain answer considering they've been living together for over two years now and it looks like Dean apparently never thought to ask about Cassie's life. “It's, uh, not like I don't know. She told me it's good. But that's all. Not that I don't want to know more. Not that she wouldn't tell me more.” Dean animated his speech with vague gestures that meant nothing but gave him something to do with his hands. “I've just been...really, really busy. But Cassie's good. School it good. College, I mean.”

            “Oh. What's kept you so busy, Dean?”

            “Work. Our schedules just don't match up.”

            Mrs. Robinson nodded with a knowing air. “I see, I see. Yes, I remember a time when Martin and I both had some of those same difficulties.”

            “Did you?”

            The woman nodded, eyes glittering with memory. “Yes, and it felt worse than being separated, because he'd come in every night to see me sleeping, and I'd wake up every morning to see him sleeping. So close, but neither of us could have each other.” Mrs. Robinson clasped her hands together. “We left notes, but it wasn't the same... To make up for lost time, though, we spent days off with each other as much as possible. We forgave each other. We loved each other.” Mr. Robinson was in her own memory now, and Dean felt himself coldly strapped to reality. That's not exactly how he and Cassie were coping. The separation wasn't torture—if they were both asleep, there was nothing to worry about. It ended up a kind of a relief to not have to worry about fixing their relationship. Dean tended to leave the weekends to catch up on sleep, and Cassie was studying or taking care of other business. And had they forgiven each other? He and Cassie were acting normal, but the subject of their pseudo-separation was left untouched.

            The small talk was pleasant otherwise, and Cassie came back around to plant a kiss on his cheek as she, along with everybody else, reminded that there was a rehearsal tonight and they had to leave. “Are you coming?”

            Dean smiled, shaking his head. “No, I'm still dog tired. I'll just unpack and get rested for the big day tomorrow.”

            Cassie nodded, eyes expressing something melancholy. “Goodnight then.” Her hand trailed down his arm before she pulled away and faced the jubilation that was exiting the building. Dean went to bed.

           

* * *

 

            It was good to sleep. Cassie came and went without disturbing his dreamless slumber. The bed was definitely better than what they had back home. The sheets smelt freshly laundered and was properly insulated to the cold. It was finally a distant voice calling his name that Dean finally opened his sticky eyes. Cassie leaned over him, eyes slightly squinting with a glossy smile. She looked different. Her hair was tamed into two rings that spiraled down on either side of her head, her bangs pinned aside with a barrette decorated with golden leaves and brown gemstones. Dean was struck at first—then he adapted, the corner of his mouth turning upright.

            Cassie smiled further, giving a peek at her teeth. “Dean, I thought maybe you'd like to eat lunch and then maybe get ready?”

            Dean sat upright, and Cassie retreated from his space. Yawning, he rubbed away at the corners of his eyes while simultaneously nodding. Once he got his breath back he gave a nod of agreement. He didn't even care to change out of his pajamas, he followed Cassie downstairs and into the kitchen where Mr. Robinson was already preparing something at the stove. “Where's everyone else?” Dean asked, noticing the lack of activity.

            Mr. Robinson shrugged, scooting some eggs around the skillet. “You know how it is. A day like this is bound to need a few last minute plans...” Cassie put and arm around Dean, looking into the pan.

            “You got enough for two, Dad?”

            “Already have some dished out if you don't wanna wait.”

            On the counter there were two floral plates set out with eggs and bacon. “Fantastic!” Cassie stepped around him, taking both and handing them to Dean. Dean walked to the dining area, hearing the father and daughter talking about how it was kind of weird how Marissa wanted a December wedding.

            Dean sat down, setting the plates down and dragging out one of the chairs to sit. Cassie came up next, handing off a glass of milk and some silverware.  Dean took the fork and knife, taking a stab at his eggs. The forks scraped against the plate, the pan in the kitchen sizzled, and Cassie sat partially aimed toward him.

            “How you feeling?”

            Dean swallowed. “Rested.” His voice still had a little sleep in it.

            “That's good. I'm glad.” Their silverware was louder than their voices. Mr. Robinson began to hum as he worked over the stove.

            “You're looking good. Like your hair—do it yourself?”

            There was a pause as she swallowed too. “Thanks, and Darcy helped me out a lot.”

            Was he tired or did something not feel right? Dean sucked on the bacon that was in his mouth, tasting the grease. Mr. Robinson never came over, so they were left to whisper in private.

            “So...I know this is selfish of me, but are you really going to be leaving so soon to visit your brother for the holidays? I can't spend any time with you this Christmas?”

            “I'll be back first thing on New Year’s Day...”

            Cassie frowned slightly, scooping eggs up with her fork. Fighting over where they would spend the holidays...it's such a domestic interaction. It didn't mean much, but somehow it felt wrong and rather than being reassured that they were getting along again, Dean felt guilty. It was uncomfortable to play along.

            Cassie soon enough had to run again to make sure everything was set up at the church, and Dean went to wash their dishes. Mr. Robinson stopped him, warning him that he needed to get into something proper. Dean fought to do at least this much, but he was denied again and amiable sent upstairs. He didn't notice that his suitcase was already open and an old suit he really never needed to wear was spread out on the side where Cassie had slept the night before.

            Cassie was a good person. She worked hard, she was getting herself through school, she cared about things, she was gentle, she tried her best to help...the list went on and on, and Dean pieced together his outfit hoping that he could convince himself that everything would be okay. What else could he ask for? He wouldn't be the man he was without Cassie. She honestly made him a better person. Remember? Remember how she was there when nobody else was? She was beautiful and... Dean walked to the mirror hanging over the dresser. He watched himself as he correctly knotted the navy tie slipped around his neck. He didn't look as tired as he suspected. He still felt tired... Cassie felt the same way though. She had to at least sense it too. Dean couldn't be the only one. He grabbed his overcoat off the bed, putting it on and adjusting the cuffs. Why did it have to sound like he was convincing himself?

Dean stepped away from the mirror, giving himself a full check-up to make sure that everything was in order. Seeing every crease and fold was where it was meant to be, Dean picked up his cell and car keys and headed to the Impala. He didn't have the directions memorized, but he knew the general direction. Dean drove until he hit a particularly busy street. Looking down, he could see the church and he gently pulled into the road.

The church lot was nearly full, and a few cars wear already parked alongside the road. Dean followed suit, parking at the curb and idling as he watched a family pass by in their best Sunday clothes, topped off with colorful jackets, hats, and gloves. It was still beyond Dean why they were having a ceremony in December. He swung the door open, bracing himself for the cold. In the end, it wasn't that bad considering it was winter. Maybe a wind-blown face, but nothing near the range of frostbite. The sidewalk was shoveled, and Dean walked behind that same family from earlier as they entered the little Lutheran establishment.

            Dean wasn't familiar with too many churches. He wasn't familiar with religion, so a part of him was left to wonder exactly how things were supposed to go down. Never exactly had the opportunity to go to a wedding. He'd seen them on TV, but he had to take that with a grain of salt. There was a ramp going down, a ramp going up, and some stairs going up. People crowded and hung up winter clothes. Most of them were floating their way upstairs, so Dean joined them. With a head over the crowd, he searched for Cassie. He really didn't know where he should be—he didn't know anyone else. Mrs. Robinson was standing and talking with one of the ushers, and Dean felt a bit of relief as he walked over.

            “Morning, Audrey.” he greeted with a smile. “You, uh, know where Cassie is?”

            Mrs. Robinson smiled back, patting Dean on the arm. “You're looking handsome today, Dean! And, Cassie is waiting for the ceremony to start with the rest of the bridesmaids.” She gave a nod to the usher she'd been speaking with, walking a little off to the side with Dean. “Now, I know you'd be fine sitting anywhere, but it's perfectly fine for you to sit up next to Martin and I. Actually, I was just going to sit down now if you want to come with me.”

            Dean accepted, following the woman down the aisle to the front pew. She might have said she was going to be sitting, but as soon as Dean had settled, Mrs. Robinson offered a brief goodbye before zipping back to the entrance and greeting an elderly woman with a walker. He could handle being on his own, but he was still most definitely out of his element. A church, a wedding, amongst a group of loving families—take your pick. Did churches always look like this though?

            Dean eyed the huge vases that each had their own corner, spilling over with white roses. To the right, there was a pulpit with a purple banner and a silver cross. More menacing was the huge triangle stained-glass window with a lamb in the center, carrying a cross. The sun must have been hitting it just right, because it was glowing bright as any of the other lights hanging overhead. There were candles twinkling everywhere. More flowers. All of it very white. Behind him, a baby started whining. The pews slowly filled in, and Mrs. Robinson finally returned with a pocket-pack of tissues at hand. Her eyes were already watery as she looked at Dean.

            “Today is such a wonderful day.” She sniffed, smiling through the preemptive tears. Dean felt his chest tighten and his smile widen. There was something touching about this kind of happiness. Happiness over happiness.

            The ceremony finally began, and a live mini-orchestra was set up and playing the bridal march music. Surprisingly enough, it wasn't the usual “Here Comes the Bride” but “Sunrise, Sunset” from Fiddler. The groom and bridesmaids walked down with arms linked and alternating gold and silver outfits. Even though it wasn't Cassie's day, seeing her walk down the aisle was enough to have Dean plunged into all sorts of “what-if” scenarios. Like, what if they did get married? What if he told her tonight? Wouldn't that be the best option? They could both be happy.

Cassie noticed the attention almost immediately, looking at Dean with sparkling eyes and a beaming smile. Dean smiled back, hiding the darkness he felt. Then he gave a nod of approval, and received a suppressed laugh. He kept his eyes on Cassie for as long as he could, until the main event. Everyone stood, facing the back of the church. The music swelled and there was Marissa and her father. That's when Mrs. Robinson really starting crying, as the two slowly glided to the front. Mr. Robinson handed Marissa off to Miki, who wore a soft expression of dedication. Mr. Robinson stood next to Mrs. Robinson, grasping her hands as they both shook with happiness. The man at the pulpit motioned for the people to seat, speaking clearly into the mic pinned to his clothes: “All of us need and desire to love and to be loved. Today, we are gathered together to celebrate the very special love between Marissa Robinson and Miki Echikunwoke, by joining them in marriage.”

 

* * *

 

            The ceremony proved to be successful. No mishaps, no wonton lovers from the past bursting in—in fact, it ended up a little boring. Not that Dean wasn't glad for Marissa, but the atmosphere began to become suffocating. Being here with Cassie, seeing her and hoping she isn't looking back. He didn't want to see her happy. He didn't want to know what it was like. The people professed outside, and Cassie practically flung herself into Dean, kissing him and smiling.

            “Dean, didn't you think it was so beautiful?”

            “I couldn't keep my eyes off you,” he murmured, truthfully and yet still feeling guilty. He played through it though. “Just, don't tell your sister, 'cause I know it's her big day.”

            Cassie giggled, putting her arms around Dean's neck and rocking back and forth, like they were slow dancing. “You ready for the after party? I hear rumor that bridesmaids are wild to hook-up with at weddings.” Her tone was playful, but nonetheless serious.

            Dean swallowed dryly. Sex. It had been a while, and it sounded fantastic. For a second, Dean forgot all the angst he'd been harboring. Maybe that's all he needed. This was just...sexual frustration. Cassie smiled, nuzzling him with her nose. “I can see you're interested. How about we meet once the dance starts?”

            “Yeah.” It's all he could say. What else would they do?

            “Hello, Cassie.” An older woman walked up, her hair short and white and a huge cross hanging over her heart. “You looked so beautiful today, what a lady you've become!”

            Cassie rushed to shake the woman's hand. “Thank you, Nana! You're looking good yourself!”

            Nana looked over at Dean, eyes adjusting to the company. “And who is this young man? Yours?”

            Cassie smiled and nodded, putting Dean's waist in a hug. “Yup! This is Dean Winchester, and we've been together for two years now.”

            The woman's voice was spoken like someone who had bad hearing as she gave greetings, “Hello, Dean. I'm Irene Whittier, but you can call me Nana.”

            Dean took her hand and shook it. “Well, nice to meet you Nana. Maybe we'll be seeing more of each other?” Dean regretted it the moment the words came out, watching Cassie's reaction from off to the side. She smiled wider, bumping into his side lightheartedly. He hadn't meant it like that. The rest of the night, Cassie was high in spirits, giving caresses and little knowing looks toward Dean who received them in character but not whole-heartedly. There were dozens of toasts, and Dean drank to the happy couple each time. The drinking wasn't the solution, but hopefully the means of getting through the night. He ate the chicken, and had a plate full of homemade noodle salads and cookie bars. It was a sort of dreadful feeling when the lights dimmed and the DJ announced himself. Cassie approached Dean's table with intent, and Dean stood to receive her.

            She pulled him down to breathe in his ear, “Come with me,” before taking Dean's tie and leading him to the hallway. It was out of the way, and the noise from the other room downed out everything else. Cassie tugged Dean in by the waist, smiling with her mouth and leering with her eyes. “You having a good time, Dean?” She tugged again at his waist, making sure they were making contact. Dean was unquestionably aware of the contact, the friction already hardening him up. It was hard to swallow, and Dean wasn't a lightweight, but he had been drinking for the majority of the night...

            It didn't hurt to have a little fun though. This was probably all they really needed, Dean told himself in what felt like a reasonable manor. Dean breathed heavily, holding Cassie tighter and suddenly feeling starved for the contact. Nothing was close enough. Dean fit his hands into her no longer curly hair, tilting her head up and feeding hungrily on her kiss. Cassie responded just as strongly, gripping Dean's shoulders and dragging their escapade down the hall.

            They both were braced against the wall, Cassie raking her hands down his back as Dean lifts the shimmering gold fabric of her gown, dragging his fingers across her skin as he exposed the length up to her thighs. He can feel the shiver, and his excitement only increases as she sweeps a leg around, hooking herself tighter to his pelvis.

            Dean moans in appreciation, hands darting to help. Cassie lifts her other leg up as Dean hoists her into himself. Her legs lock behind him now, as she puts more attention using her tongue to outline the inside of Dean's mouth. Dean reciprocates with brief thrusts, following the beat of the music in the other room.

            The barrier of formal clothing was not appreciated, and Dean is gripping Cassie's taut backside as he kept her in the air. “Are we...” Cassie moves, sending kisses along his jaw. “...really gonna do this here?”

            She pulled away fully, leaning her back against the wall and smiled with drunken mischievousness. Dean stopped, dumb with surprise. “Really?”

            Cassie grinned wider, slapping him on the shoulder. “No, stupid!” Her laugh was interrupted as she was catching her breath. “There's a closet over there. It'll be fun.” She motioned with a pointed nod to the left. Dean backed them away from the wall, carrying Cassie in the same direction. Cassie gave a delighted squeak, offering a plethora of playful kisses, each with a pleasant smack of lips. “Dean, I love you. I love you so,” kiss. “ _so_ ,” kiss. “much.” kiss.

            Dean sobered up quickly, taking a hit to his initial driving force. They to intertwined bodies stood in the middle of the hall, the sound of an excited DJ calling more people to the floor. Cassie looked ignorant to the change in the attitude, the liquid spirit still buzzing in her head. “Dean, what are you doing?”

            This had to stop. Right now, it had to stop. Dean reached behind and unclasped Cassie, gently setting her person back on the floor. Cassie was still confused, looking over her shoulder, and looking at Dean, and looking for why this wasn't going as planned. It wasn't going anywhere. And as gravity finally brought the golden fabric to tumble to her ankles, she knew what was wrong.

            Her first instinct is to deny it. They were at Marissa’s wedding—this wouldn't happen on such a happy day. Her face fell slack. Her brow crowded together as her thoughts did too. Reaching out to hold Dean's hands, she repeated earnestly, “I love you, Dean.”

            Dean didn't reply. He was joyless. His eyes concentrated on the floor.

            “Dean?”

            “Cassie...” the way he dragged her name, low and mournful, said much more than any explanation.

            She didn't know how to feel. Why?  This time her body tensed, lips pressed tight and curled downwards. Her nose flared and her eyes glittered with spiky tears. “How could you?”

            “Cassie-”

            Cassie flung her hand up to silence him. “Don't you dare say my name, Dean!” Through the collage of feelings, she tried to sound strong. It made her sick that she had to pinch off his name so quickly before she cracked. It took a second to recover before, “Don't say anything.”

            Dean didn't. He stood in front of her and he wanted to take it back.

            Cassie squeezed her eyes shut, wringing out the tears and wringing out the emotion. They had to deal with this reasonably. Neither of them wanted to make a scene... Cassie looked at Dean, standing dumbly and why did he have to— she took a breath. “Why. Now.” Her voice was on the shaky side, but the new emotion surfacing was easier to grasp. “Dean, you sometimes make bad choices, but this, this is just idiotic. Any day but today—why did you have to ruin this? Why now?” It felt like a righteous anger. She thought back to all their time together, how much they'd been though. “Do you know how embarrassing this is? How stupid I feel? I waited two years for you to tell me you love me. I had myself be patient because I saw how it was difficult for you, I knew you meant well, and I trusted that one day you would finally—I was willing to wait two goddamn years for you! Is this how it's going to end? Today was a beautiful day, and I felt good, and I wanted to look my best for you and here we are...dumping me at a reception in a crappy reception hall?” … “All I wanted was to hear that you loved me. I'm sorry, Dean—I just wanted you to finally trust me with that. What else do you want from me? Was it the dog? Did you hate that I didn't want the furnace turned up? Do I need to wait longer? Dean, I'm sorry... Did you feel too pressured? I'm sorry, I won’t bring it up again. I'll wait—”

            “That's not it...”

            The embarrassment burned up in a flame of anger again. “If you can't tell me you love me, can you tell me you don't love me then? Say it to my face, Dean. Tell me how you really feel.”

            “I'm sorry-”

            “Bullshit, I don't need your apologies! You're only saying sorry to make yourself feel better.” Cassie left before she managed to swing back into tears, leaving Dean for the darkness of the dance floor.

            What else was Dean supposed to do? He didn't belong here anymore. He drove back to Marissa's place, which was dark and uninviting. His flight wasn't until morning, and was it right of him to still stay after that? After the break-up, Dean didn't really have any connection to the family anymore. He entered through the backdoor, not going through the process of turning on any lights, trudging up the stairs in darkness. The room was dark, and Dean undressed back into casual clothes. He stooped and groped, feeling for his bags, making a quick effort in packing. He and Cassie could talk about it later. He should probably find a hotel to stay at—he didn't want to cause a big scene just yet. Maybe after he came home. He could go see Sammy for the Holiday and recover and be as good as new to face Cassie when he returned.

            If he left anything, Cassie wasn't the type to get rid of it as a form of revenge. Dean was grateful for that. He just wanted to get out of the house. As soon as possible. Leave it all behind. Dean hoisted up his luggage, tugging it along as it thrummed down the staircase. The only thing on his mind was retreat, to run away, he didn't need to deal with this problem today. The passenger seat was empty this time, so he threw it where she used to sit and jogged back around to the driver’s seat. The seats were still cold, and he didn't bother with the heater. It wasn't too long of a drive to the nearest motel, where Dean checked in, took a long, hot shower, and feel asleep on a mattress with a broken spring sticking out near his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that's it! I have more content...but only bits and pieces...nothing I can publish outright though. Thanks for the time!


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